#again there is preferences and everything

[daryltwdixon]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 6.5

Summary: The night began in chaos. After a tense, high-speed drive to the hospital, you labored through the night with Joel and Tommy at your side. Come morning, a surprise visitor appears at your door.

|| fluff, fmc is in labor, I am not a mom nor have I ever been in labor so please excuse my inaccuracies. ||

notes: mini chapter to ease some of the pain from p6!

Tommy’s white knuckles were only colored by the flashes of streetlights as he wove in and out of traffic like he was running from the law. The truck rumbled and swayed with every sharp lane change, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack.

Meanwhile, Joel sat stiff in the passenger seat, one hand gripping the dash, the other braced against the back of Tommy’s seat as he twisted to look at you again. You were stretched out in the backseat, one hand clutching the door handle, the other pressed firm over your belly.

“Breathe, baby. Just keep breathing,” he said, voice low, trying to keep calm for your sake. You nodded half-heartedly, but then another contraction hit, tearing a groan out of you so raw it made his heart drop.

He turned forward again, eyes flicking to the speedometer.

“Jesus Christ, Tommy,” Joel muttered, “you plannin’ to get us killed before we even hit the damn parking lot?”

Tommy didn’t look at him. Just kept staring down the road, jaw locked, foot iron heavy. “You wanna get there or not?”

“I’d prefer we get there in one fuckin’ piece.”

“Then quit distractin’ me and keep her focused.”

Joel made a frustrated noise under his breath, but he turned around anyway, checking on you again. You were trying to breathe through it, trying not to cry out, but it was clear you were barely holding on.

Tommy glanced up at the rearview. “You alright back there?”

You let out something that might’ve been an ‘uh-huh,’ but it cracked into a strangled whimper by the end. Joel reached for your hand that was on your swollen belly, covering it with his. “Almost there, sweetheart. You’re doin’ real good. Just hold on.”

“Almost?” Tommy barked, half-laughing, half-panicked. “We’re still fifteen goddamn minutes out and traffic’s backed up to hell.”

“Then maybe quit driving like it’s the Indy 500, might actually get there without flipping the truck,” Joel bit back.

“Oh, now you’re concerned about safety? After everything else you’ve done?”

Joel blinked, slow and sharp. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Tommy finally looked over, his eyes wild, his lip split and already starting to bruise. “Means maybe if you hadn’t stressed her out so bad, we wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with. You ever think about that? Stress-induced labor. Look it up.”

Joel’s lip curled, a bitter edge to his voice. “So now this is my fault?”

Tommy scoffed. “Sure as hell ain’t mine.”

Joel turned fully toward him now, his voice darkening. “You really wanna do this right now?”

“You’re the one who kept pushin’. Kept stirrin’ shit up between us. Came over drunk and reekin’ of the bar floor.”

“Oh, don’t start actin’ like you were some saint in all this.”

“I wasn’t the one—”

“Enough!” you cried suddenly, your voice cutting through the cab like a blade. Both men fell silent, eyes snapping to you.

You were hunched forward, teeth gritted, a fresh wave of pain pulling a sob from your chest. “Just—shut up. Both of you. This is no one’s fault. He’s jus-just early.” you tried to breathe, “So just get me to the fucking hospital.”

Joel immediately reached for you again, his voice softening like a switch flipped. “Alright. Alright, baby. You got it.”

Tommy swallowed hard and said nothing, just turned his eyes back to the road, white-knuckled all over again.

The hospital doors blew open. Bright fluorescent lights hit your eyes, too sharp after the darkness of the drive. Everything felt loud, voices layered on top of each other—nurses barking orders, the squeak of your shoes on tile, Tommy at the desk shouting at someone, Joel’s voice cutting through it all as he gripped your hand.

“Just breathe, baby,” he said, voice low and ragged. “You’re doing so good. Just breathe for me, alright?”

You didn’t remember the wheelchair. Only the sensation of motion, the floor rushing beneath you, the dizziness of being moved too fast when the world was already spinning. Joel was somewhere beside you, close and constant, Tommy on your other side.

It felt like you were underwater. The world narrowed to pain, pressure, the seizing of your body as another contraction stole the air from your lungs. You moaned low in your throat, teeth gritting as you folded in on yourself.

There were hands. One on your face, brushing sweat-drenched hair away. Another on your shoulder, grounding you. Joel’s hands, you thought. They were always there.

“You’re alright,” he whispered, “You’ve got this. Just keep breathing, sweetheart. That’s it. In… out…there you go.”

You didn’t even realize you were holding Tommy’s hand until he spoke beside you as they put you in the hospital bed.

“I’ve got you,” he said, tight and thick with emotion. “Gonna meet our boy soon, honey. C’mon now, you’re okay,”

You squeezed hard, unaware of the bruises you were probably leaving. Nurses kept glancing between the two men flanking you, but neither of them budged. They stayed close, with you, no matter what. 

Everything blurred together. You were trying to breathe through it all, tears streaming from your eyes before you even felt them welling. You were too far gone to think. Time slipped away from you in uneven gasps and ragged sobs.

Push.

Someone said it. Maybe more than once.

You bore down, trembling, sobbing, the world going white around the edges.

Another push. Another cry torn from your throat.

You did. You had to. And then again. You pushed until it felt like your body might tear apart, until you were sobbing openly and clawing at Joel’s shirt, until Tommy’s hand was the only thing tethering you to the ground.

And after hours of breathing and pushing and crying, the pressure left your body all at once. 

There was a beat of silence. Then a cry from below you—sharp, shrill, alive.

The entire room seemed to pause.

You slumped back against the bed, chest heaving, tears streaking hot down your cheeks. Joel’s laugh broke in your ear, breathless and choked. You turned your head toward the sound, only half-conscious.

Somewhere beyond the ringing in your ears, someone was saying something. Healthy, breathing, strong. 

Someone brought the baby to you. Warm, wet, crying from being brought into a new world.

You let out a broken sob as they laid him on your chest, his tiny lungs howling against your skin. You didn’t even realize you were crying until Joel’s hand wiped at your cheek.

“There he is,” Joel murmured, wonder in his voice. “You did it. You did so good, baby.”

You could barely see him through the blur of tears, but when you did, he looked wrecked. His face was flushed and damp besides the redness of the hits he took, his eyes red-rimmed, his expression soft in a way you’d never seen before.

He pressed his hand gently over yours, helping you cradle the baby closer.

Tommy was still holding on too, his other hand on your shoulder now, but you weren’t looking at anyone. Just the tiny face nestled against you, mouth open in protest, fists trembling with life.

Everything else fell away. The pain, the noise, the bright lights and the blood. All of it quieted as you cried and cried, holding the little boy you’d waited so long to meet.

And through it all, neither of them let go.

The morning light poured softly through the blinds, golden and slow, as if the world outside had the courtesy to match the quiet stillness in the room. Nurses had come and gone. The monitors beeped a little less urgently now. Your body ached in places you hadn’t even known could ache.

Your baby slept against your chest, warm and impossibly small, his breath rising in slow, shallow waves. You shifted just enough to look down at him, your fingers brushing lightly over his soft cheek, then along the delicate curve of his ear. He didn’t stir. Just let out a tiny sigh, his lips parted slightly, pink and perfect.

You traced the bridge of his nose, the gentle slope of his brow, the faintest suggestion of lashes already curling against his skin. His skin was soft, like nothing you’d ever touched before—like velvet and milk and something too new for words. His tiny hand rested over your collarbone, his fingers curled in a loose fist, barely the size of your thumb.

You couldn’t stop staring.

This was him.

He was real.

And somehow, he was yours.

You were barely holding onto wakefulness when a knock sounded at the door. Not a nurse’s knock, but lighter. Almost hesitant.

Before anyone could answer, the door creaked open and a familiar voice cut through the sleepy hush.

“Hi.”

You blinked. Sarah stepped into the room, her backpack still slung over one shoulder, a cardigan half-buttoned over her school clothes. Her hair was pulled back in a messy braid, cheeks pink from the morning air.

Joel straightened where he’d been hovering near the window, like he couldn’t quite decide whether to sit or pace. “Sarah?”

“I called you,” she said, giving him a pointed look. “You texted you were coming to the hospital and then didn’t answer me. I caught the early bus.”

Joel’s mouth opened, then closed. “Right, shit. Sorry.”

She stepped over to Tommy first, wrapping him in a hug before he could say anything. “Congrats, Uncle Tommy,” she smiled, though her eyes flicked curiously between him and her dad. “You both look like hell. What happened to you two?”

Tommy gave a low laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “Long story.”

“Very long,” Joel echoed, clearing his throat.

Sarah tilted her head, eyebrows raised, but didn’t press.

Then she turned and saw you, her expression shifting immediately and softening with wide-eyed awe. She stepped toward your bedside like she was approaching something sacred. 

“Hi,” she said quietly.

“Hey,” you managed, your voice a little hoarse.

She leaned down and half-hugged you without jostling the baby. “He’s so beautiful,” she whispered, eyes going to the tiny bundle in your arms.

You nodded, emotion thick in your throat.

“Does he have a name?” she asked.

You glanced at Tommy beside you, then over at Joel who was standing near the window again, hands on his hips. “Still haven’t decided,” you admitted. “Though the nurse is gonna be back soon, demanding something official.”

You looked up at her then, “Do you want to hold him?”

Her eyes widened even further, “Are you…are you sure?”

You nodded, jerking your head lightly toward the armchair in the corner, “Go ahead n’ sit. Joel? Give me a hand?”

Sarah scurried to the armchair in the corner, all nervous energy and fidgeting hands. Wordlessly, Joel stepped over to you, his hands steady as they slid beneath the baby’s head, his fingers brushing against yours, warm and careful in their gentleness. He carried the baby over, crouched to explain how to hold her arms just so, and then settled the tiny bundle in Sarah’s lap. She curled her arms around him, her whole world narrowing to this single, impossible moment.

You watched as the room went still.

It wasn’t a heavy silence, not really. It’s warm. Full. Everyone seemed caught under the same spell. Sarah, her arms careful and sure around your son. Tommy, smiling in a way you hadn't seen him smile in a long time. Even you, wrapped in a quiet awe that made it hard to breathe.

But when you finally looked up, you caught Joel’s gaze—and he wasn’t looking at the baby.

He was looking at you.

Something passed through his eyes, something so unbearably soft it made your throat tighten. He looked… grateful. He looked haunted. Like he had a hundred things he wanted to say but knew this wasn't the time. So he just held your gaze for a long moment until, after a long beat, Tommy’s voice cut through, a little too loud in the hush.

“You eaten breakfast yet, kid?” he asked, glancing at Sarah.

She shook her head sheepishly, a small, guilty smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Her fingers trailed across the hem of the blankets in her lap as she looked up at him, then down again.

Tommy grunted as he pushed up from his chair, dusting his palms over his jeans. “Think the cafeteria’s open by now. C’mon. I’ll take ya.”

Sarah carefully handed the baby back toward Joel. He moved without hesitation, cradling the newborn in his arms like he was something precious. Something he still couldn't quite believe he was allowed to touch.

You watched Tommy and Sarah walk toward the door, her voice a soft murmur you couldn’t catch. Tommy paused, glancing back over his shoulder at you as he held it open for her. His eyes held steady on yours. “We’ll be back,” he promised.

You nodded and they slipped out into the hallway.

The door swung shut with a soft click, and the room was left in that stillness again. Morning light stretched long across the bed, brushing over your bed sheets and Joel’s boots where he stood.

He made his way back over, slow and cautious, his eyes never leaving the baby’s face. That quiet awe was still there, softening the hard lines of his features. He didn’t speak as he approached, but you saw the way his gaze tracked every inch of the newborn like he was memorizing him. Like some part of him still believed this might not last. You just watched him. You watched the way the bruise on his cheek had darkened, the exhaustion in his eyes, the worn expression that had settled into his face like it belonged there. But it wasn’t just tiredness. There was something else just beneath the surface. Guilt. Uncertainty. The sharp edge of nerves that he hadn’t quite shaken.

No one had mentioned the fight from the night before. In the chaos of labor and everything that followed, no one had found the space to say it aloud. And you were grateful. Grateful that, for now, it could wait.

Joel leaned down and settled the newborn back against your chest, so careful and gentle in his movements. Once the baby was settled into your chest, Joel began to step back. Not…far, but enough to start retreating. You saw the way his eyes darted to the floor, his hands flexing open and closed like he didn’t know what to do with them now. The only sounds in the room were of the baby’s breathing filling the room, tiny little sighs that made something in your chest ache. 

You reached for him. Your hand found his wrist, fingers brushing warm skin and wiry hair. He stilled under your touch, breath catching slightly. You let your hand trail upward, sliding along his forearm, anchoring him. You looked at his face, waiting to meet his eyes—but he wouldn’t look at you.

Still, he let you pull him in.

Joel knelt beside the bed, as if unsure whether he was allowed to come any closer, and your hand moved gently to cup his face. The scruff of his beard scratched against your palm as you laid your fingers along his jaw, and for a second, he just breathed.

“Look at him,” you murmured, your gaze never leaving Joel’s face. He followed your cue, looking down at the baby again. A long breath left him, his shoulders lowering, his brow drawing in as something in him buckled in him. Not broken, but loosened. Softened.

“Look what you gave me,” you said, “Gave us.”

You smiled faintly as your fingers slipped into his hair, stroking through it gently. He stayed quiet, breath shallow, eyes fixed on the tiny face resting against your chest. His mouth pressed into a thin line, and he shook his head almost imperceptibly, like he couldn’t believe any of this was real, let alone that he had a hand in it.

“Joel,” you whispered, and his eyes finally met yours. 

“I love you too.”

His hands rose almost immediately, pressing against his forehead like he was trying to hold everything in, to steady something inside that was unraveling faster than he could control.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so damn sorry.”

You didn’t need to ask what for. You already knew.

He was sorry for the night before. For showing up drunk and aching and helpless. For not being able to hide his feelings anymore and for letting Tommy see all of it. For all the ways he had failed to keep his distance when he should have. For not being able to carry it in silence anymore.

You reached up again and threaded your fingers through his hair, slower this time, more deliberate. Your nails grazed lightly against his scalp, and you felt the tension bleed out of his shoulders as he leaned into it.

His eyes stayed shut, but he didn’t pull away.

“I know,” you murmured. “It’s okay. We’re going to figure it out. And…I’m sorry too. For pushing you away like I did. It wasn’t right.”

Joel didn’t say anything. But he heard you. You could see it in the way his eyes closed briefly, in the way his shoulders softened again. He didn’t brace this time. Didn’t tense like he expected to be pushed away. He just breathed, each inhale and exhale long and deep as he let himself stay right there with you.

But then his hands moved. Slowly, he reached up, his calloused hands rough and worn but so warm and careful as he took your hand from his hair. He pulled it down, cradling it in both of his hands like it was the most precious thing. His thumbs brushed over your knuckles for a moment, and then he brought your palm to his lips, and kissed into the center of it.

His beard tickled your sensitive skin, and his warm lips pressed gently into your palm, sending a quiet spark across your nerves. Goosebumps rose along your arms, not from surprise but from the sweetness of it. How he was so soft, so unhurried. There was nothing rushed or dramatic about the gesture, but it carried more weight than any words could have in that moment.

Your breath caught in your throat at the tenderness of it, and for a second, you just looked at him with his head bowed, your hand still held gently in his grasp, the baby breathing softly between you.

You let out a long, tired sigh. Not from frustration, but from relief. From the ache easing a little in your chest.

“Alright,” you said finally, voice light but a little hoarse as you tried to lighten your tone. “So what’re we naming this kid?”

Joel’s head lifted, his eyes catching yours. Still glassy. Still overwhelmed. But a ghost of a smile touched the corners of his mouth, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t look afraid.

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[wordsofelie]

uni student!akaashi who frowns when he sees you for the first time in modern literature 103 because you rush in late, breathless, loudly excusing yourself before nearly tripping on your way to the front row—two seats ahead of him. who’s even late on the first day of the semester? and especially for their major?

uni student!akaashi who quickly decides you’re annoying. your reactions to the professor are far too expressive. you nod too eagerly, laugh too easily and above all—you’re unable to sit properly on your chair without moving every second. is there something wrong with these chairs?

uni student!akaashi who finds you weird for having way too many pens and highlighters and puppy-shaped erasers. who needs that many colours and what are you gonna do with them? does highlighting in lavender really help understand the class? he thinks that’s odd.

uni student!akaashi who wants nothing more than to disappear when, after a missed alarm, a car splashing his brand-new jeans, and a tragic drop of his coffee—realises he’s forgotten his copy of the setting sun. the very book he spent all night annotating. how is he even supposed to follow a course about dazai if he doesn’t have the material in his hands? it’s a terrible day.

uni student!akaashi who ends up sitting beside you when you gently offer to share the book (because despite your clumsy attitude and tendency to arrive late, you didn’t forget it). and who’s startled to discover that your notes are not only neat but extremely detailed and thoughtful. you even noticed metaphors and assonances that he hadn't seen (although he was convinced he was pretty attentive to that kind of things). maybe the day isn’t so terrible.

uni student!akaashi who didn’t know he liked jasmine so much until he sat beside you and caught a trace of it from your scarf. the scent has been haunting him since then. now he finds himself buying jasmine tea even though he never drinks tea. he usually prefers coffee, black and filtered. but maybe jasmine isn’t so bad and it helps ease his mind. so he concludes that jasmine is relaxing. yeah, that must be it. just something to do with chemical reactions. nothing more.

uni student!akaashi who wonders where you’ve been when you don’t show up to the class the next day. it’s pretty cold outside now that november is ending so you’re probably just a bit sick, right? but now that he thinks of it, you wore a scarf and gloves the day before so maybe something bad happened to you. maybe he should try to find you on campus and make sure you’re okay?

uni student!akaashi who can finally catch his breath when he sees you at the library. he decides to take a sit beside you because you’re his classmate after all and you missed class this morning, so maybe he could offer some help. you thank him. twice. you blush. and he forgets how to breathe, again.

uni student!akaashi who turns to the guy complaining about the noise you make when you tap your pen against the table and quietly says, “then sit somewhere else,” before returning to his book like it didn’t cost him everything to say it. but you tell him he looked “cool”. and he thinks he wouldn’t mind getting into a fight with every single person in the library just to hear you say this again.

uni student!akaashi who brings you coffee and raspberry cookies (the ones from the café he assumes you like so much, since you always bring food from there in class) just “because it’s the finals soon so everyone deserves a treat and…” but your smile is so bright it knocks the words from his chest. and he needs to find somewhere to sit soon—his knees are weak and his heart thunderous.

uni student!akaashi who shyly mirrors your smile when your eyes light up after he mentions something about your favourite book. you start blabbering and he nods at everything like he’s loved it for years when really, he pulled an all-nighter reading it just so he could understand why it’s your favourite. not that he did it only for you. as a literature student, he thought it was interesting to broaden his reading culture. maybe it’ll help for the exams. and he just wants make sure he’s ready for the exams.

uni student!akaashi who feels his ears burn red when you wait for him after class with a chocolate muffin and a tiny candle. “happy birthday,” you say, all sweet and beautiful. and before he can overthink it, he asks, “there’s a new exhibit in town. about dazai. do you want to come with me?” you answer yes—too quickly.

uni student!akaashi whose heart threatens to explode when he receives a text from you that night with a "happy birthday again!! see you tomorrow for our date :)" but at least his mind is at ease. wait—should be bring something? are you expecting flowers? maybe he’ll stop by the coffee shop and the flower shop. and the library… he doesn’t sleep that night.

i’m not ashamed to say i have been obsessed with uni student akaashi for weeks. so i had to write something.

[gf2bellamy]

part four: manifestation synchronicity

— ★ he didn’t speak it into existence—but he dreamed it, wished it, and somehow, the universe listened

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing!

masterlist - part one ✦ part two ✦ part three

A lot of time had passed.

The dream clung to Spencer like a second skin, refusing to fade, even weeks later.

It clung to him so much that Spencer had started writing down speeches. Whole scenarios, practiced confessions of love—scripts he rehearsed late at night, sometimes whispering them under his breath, sometimes mouthing them silently while brushing his teeth. Each one ended up crumpled and tossed in the trash.

Too much. Too rehearsed. Too… not enough.

The wastebasket beside his desk overflowed with failed declarations, balled-up like the knot in his chest.

This morning, the aftermath of another sleepless night found him stepping into the elevator at 8:17 AM—late by his standards.

Morgan's car already parked in the lot. Hotch's office light already on.

The universe's meticulous order disrupted.

He sighed again as the elevator doors opened and stepped out into the bullpen, mind already racing. He hadn’t even had time to grab coffee. All he could think about was you. The way your voice sounded in the mornings, the way you said his name, the way—

"Spencer!"Your voice cut through the fog like sunlight.

He sat down at his desk just as you emerged from the breakroom, a steaming cup in each hand.

"You're late," you teased, hip-checking his desk as you approached.

Spencer's half-formed greeting died in his throat.

There you stood, dressed in a pink sweater that mirrored the sweater from his dream—same cable-knit pattern, same way it slipped off one shoulder. And the hair clip. The ladybug hair clip from your first day, winking at him like a shared secret.

The coincidence was too precise, too cruel.

"I overslept," he managed, his voice rough with sleep and something far more dangerous.

His gaze traced the curve of your neck where the sweater met skin, the way your fingers drummed against the ceramic mug—his mug, the one you always claimed was "accidentally" filled with his preferred brew.

You leaned further over his desk, close enough that he caught the vanilla-citrus scent of your shampoo.

"Well, lucky for you," you said, sliding the coffee toward him, "I come prepared."

The steam curled between you like the ghost of all his unsaid words.

“Thank you.” Spencer immediately took a sip, the warmth of the coffee on his tongue not even comparing to the warmth that was spreading throughout his entire body at the sight of you.

The conversation wandered—case files, Garcia's latest tech obsession, the questionable quality of precinct coffee—until the observation slipped out unbidden:

"I like your sweater." Spencer finally let the words fall out.

You nudged him lightly with the toe of your shoe, the contact buzzing through his thigh like a live wire. "Thanks, Spence," you said, plucking at the fabric. "Found it buried in my drawer. Haven't worn it in years, but today it just... called to me, you know?"

Spencer's fingers stilled on his desk.

Called to you.

The scarf around his neck—your scarf—suddenly felt heavier, the wool scratching at his skin in a way that had nothing to do with texture and everything to do with the way his pulse rabbited beneath it. He'd gone from treating it like museum glass to needing it like oxygen, as if the fibers had woven themselves into his DNA. He couldn't remember the last time he'd left home without it.

"Yeah," he murmured, watching the morning light catch in your lashes. "I get that."

Your smile lingered like sunlight as you stood, fingers brushing his shoulder—a fleeting touch that burned through the fabric of his dress shirt. 

"Enjoy your coffee," you murmured before weaving through the bullpen toward Garcia's office, your familiar morning ritual. Spencer tracked your movement until you disappeared around the corner, the ghost of your touch still warm on his skin.

The next hour passed in a haze. 

Files blurred together and words lost meaning until the scrape of your chair drew his attention back to earth. When you returned, settling into the desk across from him, the bullpen seemed to brighten by several lumens.

It was only when he shifted a stack of paperwork that he saw it—a glint of silver nestled against his keyboard.

Your ring.

The delicate band with its tiny engraved stars—the one he'd given you last Christmas after you'd admired it in a museum gift shop.

The one you never took off.

His gaze snapped up to find you frantically sifting through files, the crease between your brows deepening with each passing second. "You okay?"

You looked up, distress etching your features. "Spence, I can't find my—"

He lifted the ring between thumb and forefinger.

The words died as you spotted it. "Oh thank God."

He crossed to you in three strides, the metal warm from resting against his paperwork. 

"Must've dropped it when you gave me my mug," he smiled, watching the way your shoulders relaxed.

You extended your hand, palm down, fingers splayed in silent request. The implication wasn't lost on him—the ring finger, outstretched like a question he'd dreamed of answering properly.

Spencer's pulse roared in his ears as he cradled your fingers, the slide of cool metal against your skin far more intimate than it had any right to be. When the band settled at the base of your finger, something primal in his chest purred in satisfaction.

You wiggled it experimentally, then gifted him that small, private smile reserved only for him. 

"You're a savior."

He smiled back. The walk to the break room was automatic, his body moving while his mind reeled. The sweater. The hair clip. The ring. Each coincidence stacked like evidence in a case he could no longer deny—

The universe wasn't just nudging him anymore—it was shoving him toward the inevitable. And Spencer Reid had never been one to ignore empirical evidence.

The day unfolded like a carefully orchestrated symphony of impossibilities.

Lunch with Morgan and Garcia became an exercise in cognitive dissonance—three separate times, you and Spencer spoke the same words simultaneously.

Garcia had squealed into her margarita while Morgan muttered about "spooky genius telepathy."

Then the wishing well.

You'd dragged him to it with that irresistible grin, demanding he make a wish "for fun."

Neither of you knew the other had wished for the same thing—each other—coins glinting as they sank into the water like twin falling stars.

But the photograph was the tipping point.

You'd unearthed it from your desk with a delighted gasp—a candid Garcia had snuck into your drawer months ago, capturing the two of you shoulder-to-shoulder in her apartment. 

There you were, frozen in time: Spencer wearing the sweater from his dream (same cable-knit, just in forest green instead of pink), both of you absorbed in a book with—

"A ladybug," Spencer breathed, tracing the insect perched on the book in the photo. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears.

Your nose scrunched in that way he'd cataloged under Endearing Expressions, Vol. 3. "Cute right? Garcia must've taken this when we—"

But Spencer was already lost in thoughts.

The ring. How he had found it, the moment you thought about it. The way it felt to put it on your finger. The sweater. His gray cable-knit—the mirror image of your pink one from the dream. And the book in your hands? A weathered copy of a classic with a ladybug perched on the cover.

The coincidence was too precise, too loud to ignore.

Now, sprawled on his couch in that very sweater (dug out from the back of his closet with trembling hands), he stared at the ceiling. He traced the edges of the photo absently, his thumb brushing over your smile in the image.

The universe had handed him every clue, every sign, every cosmic nudge imaginable. Somewhere between probability and destiny, Spencer Reid had stumbled into a love story written in constellations.

All that remained was the courage to say it aloud.

[hedwig221b]

On the topic of OG Hale pack fics, any super good sterek ones that really focus on Stiles and the pack but have the flavor of your Derek? I love your Sterek fics but man I'm always sad the Hale Pack doesn't feature more prominently. (Og hales being derek, boyd, erica, issac, jackson, and peter.)

yk you should really ask the op @homemadesterekpie since she actually wrote that beautiful post

Stop Crossing Oceans by greenleaf

"There are no absolutes, Scott! No hard rights or hard wrongs! The world doesn’t fucking work that way and we can’t afford to think like that, because people are going to die! We signed up for that the moment we got involved with all this!” “We? We?” Scott hisses. “Don’t you think you? Don’t forget that you’re the one who dragged us into that forest the night it all started, Stiles. So if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours.” Something inside Stiles cracks, so strong and so deep that he practically hears it.

My Mother Told Me by Renmackree

Stiles joined the Emissary program to help Alpha wolves settle into their new roles and to follow in his mother’s footsteps. She had always told him he was destined to run with the wolves, but he thought she meant Scott and his pack. Instead, Stiles finds himself sent to Thingvallavatn, Iceland, with Alpha Derek Hale. It's clear the Alpha is hiding a part of him that Stiles can’t reach, but when a monster comes to threaten the pack, it’s always great to have someone in your corner with a little mischief up their sleeve

Choice by Omni

Derek knows what it feels like to not really have a choice, what it's like to be manipulated. He'd never take away someone's right to choose freely. The fear of even accidentally doing so is enough to hold him back from acting on his own feelings. Stiles has never had a problem making his own choices, and fuck anyone who would try to tell him he can't. (Or: Stiles gets bitten by a different alpha, but of course would prefer to have Derek as his alpha. And also just, you know, have Derek.)

The Comfort of Coming Down by MadcapRomantic

Stiles isn't the only human in the pack, but, more often than not, he's the most vulnerable.

Derek Didn't Know What To Do But Maybe Stiles Did by tiedtogetherwithadagger

He let his head fall onto Stiles’ shoulder with a sigh of relief. He wasn't losing his pack, at least not tonight. Erica would be okay. “Thank you,” Derek exhaled into Stiles’ hoodie. “Always,” Stiles said.

The Human of the Pack by smilingbuckley

Slowly, Derek's pack starts to act nice to Stiles and accept him in the pack after Scott basically abandoned him to have his secret moments with Allison.

The Boy Who Tamed the Sourwolf by AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle

Stiles is used to being second tier in everyone's life. How easily people forget him and move on to bigger and better things. Used to always being in someone's shadow. Leave it to Derek Hale to shatter those expectations.

Go Away, Scott by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere

After the incident at the warehouse, Stiles is fed up with Scott. He finds himself drawn into Derek’s pack and in the process, drawn to Derek himself. With the Alpha Pack closing in, Derek needs to learn how to trust his pack and those around him. And who better to help him than Stiles?

Protect and Serve by MoonlitMemories

Stiles discovers the Nemeton starting to grow again in the preserve on Hale land. What does that mean for the pack? More importantly: why does the Nemeton seem so attached to Stiles?

Anthracite by LupusScintilla (inkandblade)

It's been a quiet few years, and the McCall Pack has grown and settled. But, when the Hale Pack return to Beacon Hills they find Scott isn't as welcoming as they had hoped. Soon they, Stiles, and Lydia, find out that not everything about the McCall Pack is as it has always seemed.

also if my fics make you sad then maybe write your own with all the characters that you want ❤

[masterlist link]

[kxsagi]

ok i'm literally about to rip my head off instg. I'm asking because I LOVE your writing, but does anyone remember a ff with Kaiser with multiple trigger warnings (no NSFW) with reader who ran away from home and met him while she was rummaging through the garbage for food? That was the lore or something like that, ISTG I'M GOING INSANE BECAUSE I WAS STARTING TO LOVE IT AND IF SOMEONE CAN FIND IT I MIGHT MARRY THEM. Please let's help each other 🙏

“𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐮𝐩”

a/n: girl i’mma be so honest… i have no idea which fic this is and i’ve never read it 😭

but since you really wanna find it… and i like the plot idea… i figured i would write my own version

but if anyone finds the original, pls comment or message me their @ so i can tag them and credit them! 

(art credits go to jinxx_yu on X)

tw: child neglect, poverty, homelessness, implied abuse, food insecurity, emotional distress

you’re ten when you meet him. and you haven’t eaten in two days. 

it’s early morning, still foggy with dew, and the back alley behind the bakery is quiet, save for the soft rustle of your hands digging through the bin. you’re small enough to go unnoticed, quick enough to run if you’re not. but your legs feel heavy today. slow. your stomach cramps with every movement, and your fingers are shaking so bad you almost drop the stale muffin you find. 

you’re about to shove it into your mouth when a voice says, “hey.” 

you spin around, heart in your throat. 

a boy stands there. not much older than you. probably your age, even. but taller. sharper. he’s not wearing a shirt, just black sweatpants a little too big for his slim figure. he doesn’t look scared. doesn’t look mean, either. just curious. 

you narrow your eyes. “what do you want?” 

he remains calm, hands resting in his pockets. “nothing. just… i come here, too.” 

you blink. “to… dig?” 

he shrugs. “sometimes they throw out the ones that are only a little old. if you get here early enough, they’re not soggy yet.” 

you stare at him for a beat. and then you look down at the muffin in your hand. 

“… you want half?” you offer, quiet. 

he’s shocked. you’re too bright for someone living like this. 

“you serious?” 

you break the muffin in two, handing him the bigger half. 

“you’re weird,” he says, taking it. 

“so are you.” 

the two of you sit on the curb, eating in silence. crumbs fall into your laps. he tells you his name is michael, but he says it with an accent (mee-kha-el) and then adds, “but i prefer kaiser.” 

“why?” you ask. 

he shrugs again. “just… sounds cooler.” 

you snort. “okay, kaiser.” 

he grins a little, and it makes your chest feel warm. 

you learn a lot about him that morning. like how he hates the rain because of how fast it soaks his already-worn-out shoes. and how his dad makes everything he does a punishment. how sometimes he climbs on top of the bus stop just to feel above it all. 

you tell him you ran away because home didn’t feel like home. you don’t give details in the moment. you don’t need to. he doesn’t ask. 

“we’re kinda the same,” he says, picking at a loose thread on his waistband. “like… like nobody wanted us. so we had to want ourselves.” 

you glance at him. it’s the first time anyone’s ever said something like that to you. something that feels true. 

you nod. “yeah. we have to be our own people.” 

he holds out a pinky. “so let’s promise.” 

“promise what?” 

“that we’ll find a way out. not just survive. like… really live. better than them. better than this.” 

your throat burns. not from hunger this time. 

you hook your pinky with his. “promise.” 

𐙚

years later, you’re standing in the world’s loudest stadium. confetti rains gold. his name echoes across the world. 

but michael kaiser only sees you. 

you’re at the edge of the field, eyes glassy, mouth trembling with a smile. the same way you looked when you shared half a muffin with him behind a bakery all those years ago. 

he doesn’t hesitate, he jumps the barrier, running straight into your arms. 

“we made it,” he breathes, medal warm between your chests. 

you nod, laughing through tears. “yeah. from trash bins to trophies.” 

he kisses you like a promise kept. 

and when he lifts the world cup over his head, he looks at the cameras, the crowds, the sky, but smiles only at you. 

© 𝐤𝐱���𝐚𝐠𝐢

[bucketgetter535]

No Margin for Error: Chapter Eight

CW: Drinking (ish)

WC: 7k

Notes: 29383828 hours of studying later and here we are. Please leave thoughts/reactions I live for them

They left Colorado on a private flight as the sun was barely stretching over the mountains, soft morning light spilling through the clouds like it didn’t know what kind of weight the next few weeks would carry.

Azzi didn’t sleep much on the plane. Paige did. Or pretended to. Hood up, headphones in, her long legs stretched out with that practiced ease only athletes carried — like she knew her body was a machine and she knew when to shut it down. Azzi didn’t bother pretending. Her mind was too loud.

By the time they touched down in the Netherlands, Paige had reassembled herself.

It was kind of incredible, honestly. Less than twelve hours ago, Azzi had her hands tangled in Paige’s sweatshirt and her name caught in Paige’s throat, all softness and low gasps in the dark. And now here Paige was — hair tied up, sunglasses on, gear bag slung over her shoulder like she was walking into war — completely locked in. A full reset. Like she’d flipped a switch somewhere over the Atlantic and become Ferrari’s golden girl again.

Part of Azzi admired it. The other part… well. The other part watched too closely, wondering if maybe Paige flipped that switch a little too easily sometimes.

They didn’t talk much once they got to the paddock. They didn’t really need to. It was Thursday — track walk, media, data briefings, and updates from the engineers. Azzi dove into her own schedule without hesitation, greeting a few familiar faces, nodding at the camera crew hovering around the hospitality building.

Ferrari’s garage was already humming with activity by the time she stepped in. Mechanics hunched over laptops, engineers wheeling tires into place. She could smell brake dust and rubber. It felt good — sharp and focused — even if the air was heavier than Colorado’s. More humid. The track at Zandvoort was tight and technical, the banks more old-school than she preferred, but she didn’t mind the challenge. She never had.

Mateo found her near the back of the garage, arms folded, eyes scanning the rear wing on the new spec. His ever-present clipboard in hand.

“Welcome back, Champion,” he greeted, voice dry but fond. “How’s the altitude detox?”

Azzi gave him a look, one brow raised. “We were in the mountains, not Mars.”

“Still,” he shrugged, scribbling something onto a tablet. “Glad you survived.”

He said it casually, but his eyes flicked up just a beat slower than usual. The not-so-subtle question was there, right beneath the surface: How was your break? Who were you with?

Azzi didn’t bite. She just lifted her shoulder in a half-shrug and turned back to the car. “Didn’t forget how to drive, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Mateo smirked. “Wouldn’t dare suggest it.”

They walked through the changes together — revised floor, some rear suspension tweaks, and updates to the diffuser they’d been testing in the sim. Small gains, mostly. They weren’t expecting to dominate this weekend, not with Red Bull’s pace at this circuit. Zandvoort had always been their guy’s playground. The orange-clad home crowd would make sure of that.

Ferrari’s real target was Monza. That much was clear from the way everything was framed — “data for next week,” “building confidence in the new package,” “testing race pace over quali speed.”

Fine. Azzi could play the long game. She always had.

She was mid-way through some telemetry comparisons with Mateo when she caught the tail end of movement across the garage — just enough to draw her attention.

Paige.

Standing in the opposite corner, talking to Luka, her posture easy but attentive, one hand gesturing slightly while the other held her drink bottle. The headphones she always wore before debriefs sat loose around her neck, and the red of her Ferrari polo hugged her biceps in that stupid, unfair way that made Azzi glance too long.

There was a faint sheen of heat in the air — maybe from the track, maybe from jet lag — but Azzi felt it anyway. A flicker low in her spine.

She looked good. That was the problem.

Azzi looked away before her stare could become obvious.

Mateo was still talking, oblivious. “We’ll get the baseline this afternoon, and I’ll push the long-run setup to the sim files tonight.”

Azzi nodded, lips pressed together.

And then — because of course — she caught movement again.

Dirk.

Dirk van der Meer — with his annoyingly symmetrical face and stupidly strong jawline and that half-foreign, half-familiar charm that always made the media swoon. He was lingering just outside the Red Bull hospitality tent, talking to someone from Alpine but looking way too comfortable doing it. He spotted her, of course. He always did. Gave her that little two-fingered salute like he thought he was clever.

She didn’t return it.

Instead, she turned back to the car and focused on what actually mattered — the downforce data, the tires they’d be testing in practice, the mounting pressure of being Ferrari’s two-time champion while still having to chase Red Bull every other weekend.

But it still gnawed at her.

Dirk. Paige — with her jaw set like she hadn’t just spent a week letting Azzi drag her back to bed every morning.

It was stupid. She knew it was stupid. Paige wasn’t her girlfriend. Dirk wasn’t Paige’s boyfriend. None of it meant anything. They were all just doing their jobs.

But Azzi couldn’t shake the feeling crawling under her skin — the tightness in her chest, the flare of something ugly and sharp every time Dirk smiled at Paige like that, every time she caught him looking over with that faint, knowing smirk.

They hadn’t even been back a full day and the game face was already back on. Paige was composed, professional, unreadable. Azzi couldn’t decide if it was impressive or just… a little sad.

And maybe that was the thing that bothered her most.

Because under all of it — the jealousy, the tension, the stupid tightness in her jaw — was the knowledge that if Paige looked at her right now, Azzi wouldn’t be able to hide a damn thing.

–

Friday at Zandvoort was unremarkable, which, in Formula One, was almost worse than a disaster.

Practice One and Two came and went in a blur of engine notes, tire graining, and the occasional puff of beachside sand swirling into the corners. The Ferrari was… fine. Balanced enough to keep the rear from sliding, but not punchy. Not aggressive. Not what they’d need to really fight at the front.

It was clear from the first stint that this wasn’t their weekend. At least not yet.

Azzi felt it in every corner — the way she had to fight for grip, the way the rear end drifted just slightly out of sync with her hands. She didn’t complain. Mateo knew. Everyone did. This wasn’t a race car built for Zandvoort. It was a placeholder — a test bed. All eyes were already on Monza.

Which meant this weekend was about staying clean. Stay sharp. Collect data. Don’t crash. She could do that. She had done that, season after season. But it didn’t mean she liked it.

Paige, naturally, said nothing. Not to her, anyway. They’d exchanged a few clipped words in the garage between runs — tire temps, brake feedback, pressure settings. All technical. All safe. Nothing that touched anything real.

Azzi didn’t know if it was the car or the heat or the jet lag, but something felt off in the garage. Disconnected.

Even when Paige was only a few meters away, helmet under one arm, hair damp with sweat at her temples — she still felt too far.

And Azzi didn’t like that.

She didn’t say anything, of course. Not with the team crowding around, not with engineers sticking mics into their faces and media staff ushering them toward interviews. So she kept her head down. She signed the papers. She gave the sound bites. And when it was finally over — when the day had burned itself out and the sun dipped low behind the dunes — Dr. Liao’s assistant found them in the paddock.

Just a routine check. A post-break wellness evaluation. For both of them.

Which was fine. Boring, even. Azzi had nothing to report. She’d gotten sleep, eaten well, even managed a few hikes in Colorado that didn’t leave her knees screaming. Her vitals were perfect. No issues, no fatigue. Dr. Liao nodded, pleased, and made a note on her tablet.

And then it was Paige’s turn.

Dr. Liao was gentle, but thorough. There was history to consider — Paige’s crash before the summer break had almost been enough to warrant concussion protocol (It should have. Paige just ignored the doctors). She’d been cleared for this race, obviously. Otherwise she wouldn’t be in the car. But Liao still asked the questions.

“How’s your head?”

“Fine,” Paige said, without hesitation.

“Any nausea? Sensitivity to light?”

“No.”

“Sleep disruptions?”

“No.”

“Memory issues?”

“No.”

Dr. Liao studied her for a second. Paige’s expression didn’t move.

Azzi did her best not to roll her eyes.

Because Paige was lying. Not about everything — but enough. Enough for Azzi to know she was brushing symptoms under the rug. She’d seen the way Paige blinked harder under the bright lights in the garage. The way she’d rubbed the bridge of her nose after second practice. The tightness in her jaw when she thought no one was looking.

Azzi knew Paige. Knew how good she was at convincing people she was fine even when she wasn’t.

And it pissed her off. Just a little.

But she stayed quiet.

Eventually, Dr. Liao cleared her, if only with a subtle note to monitor and check again after Quali. And just like that, the session was over.

They walked out into the narrow hallway between medical and hospitality, neither of them saying much. The sun was setting fast now, slanting gold through the paddock windows.

Azzi was halfway through reaching for her phone when Paige said quietly, “Can we get food?”

Azzi blinked, a little surprised. Paige didn’t look at her — not directly. Just kept walking, slowly, voice a notch lower than usual.

It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t even really a suggestion. More like a reach.

Azzi studied her for a beat. Paige was tired — she could see it now, beneath the bravado and the sunglasses and the pressed polo. Her shoulders were still tense from the car, and her eyes had that faint glaze that came from staring at telemetry for hours.

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. There’s a restaurant in the hotel.”

“Okay,” Paige said, and something about the way her voice dropped again — quiet, like relief — made Azzi’s chest go warm and tight at the same time.

They didn’t talk as they made their way to the car. They didn’t need to.

But something had shifted — small, subtle. Like a gear had finally clicked back into place.

Azzi didn’t know what Paige would say over dinner. If she’d finally open up. If she’d deflect and pretend like always.

But for the first time all day, she didn’t feel like she was driving alone.

–

They ended up not bothering with the restaurant.

Paige had looked at the elevator buttons like they were a puzzle she didn’t have the energy to solve, and Azzi didn’t feel like pretending to enjoy lukewarm hotel pasta while surrounded by stiff-backed diners and wandering photographers.

Instead, they took the quiet route: room service menus tossed onto the bed, shoes kicked off in opposite corners, and phones left somewhere between the floor and the windowsill.

Azzi’s room was on the twelfth floor. Not penthouse, but close. High enough to see the curve of the sea on clear days. Tonight it was dark, low clouds rolling in over the dunes. The sky looked heavy.

Their food came in less than twenty minutes, wheeled in by a teenager who looked like he was trying not to trip over his own feet at the sight of two Ferrari drivers sharing a hotel room. Paige tipped him before Azzi could move. She didn’t say anything about it.

Dinner was unremarkable — a grilled chicken sandwich for Paige, a salad bowl for Azzi that she only ate half of. Neither of them was particularly hungry. Not really. It was just a thing to do with their hands. Something to fill the space.

Azzi didn’t ask until Paige had finished most of her sandwich. Her head was leaned back against the headboard, one leg bent, hotel slippers on. The sleeves of her polo were rolled just slightly up her arms. It looked natural. Comfortable.

Azzi set her fork down.

“So,” she said, quiet, careful. “Headaches are better, huh?”

Paige blinked. Her jaw shifted like she was debating whether to lie again.

“They’re not gone,” she said finally. “But yeah. A lot better.”

Azzi watched her. “And the light stuff?”

Paige hesitated. “Still happens sometimes.”

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. That one lingers.”

She wasn’t saying it just to say it. She’d had a concussion once — Suzuka, her first year in F1. A tire wall, a misjudged braking point, and three days of brutal nausea and floating vision. She hadn’t admitted it at the time, of course. But she’d remembered the way it felt. The way it stayed.

Paige didn’t say much else. She just pushed her plate a few inches away and leaned back again, letting her phone rest flat on her stomach.

Azzi didn’t push. She could tell Paige was spent — not in the physical way, but that mental burnt-out silence she slipped into when her brain had been on fire all day and needed something stupid to cool it off.

Sure enough, within a few minutes, Paige was on TikTok. Earbuds in. One in, one out. Azzi didn’t even notice at first, until Paige snorted — an actual laugh, low and surprised — and nudged her foot.

Azzi looked over.

“What?”

Paige turned the phone toward her, grinning faintly. “Someone made an edit.”

Azzi squinted at the screen. It was an F1 fancam — clips of the two of them stitched together to some overdramatic song about tension and unsaid feelings. Garage glances. Post-race hugs. Press conference smirks. All edited in glossy, high-contrast color correction and captioned in shaky all-caps.

Azzi leaned closer, chewing the inside of her cheek as she read.

Paige tapped the caption. “Read it.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but obliged, deadpan: “they hate each other so bad that it’s sexy as hell.”

Paige broke into a full laugh then — not loud, but real. Her head tilted back against the headboard, and she smiled like it wasn’t something she had to think about.

Azzi didn’t laugh, but she smiled too.

She didn’t know what this was — them, like this. Quiet. Not fighting. Not faking. Just… here.

It wasn’t complicated. But maybe it was something.

She didn’t need a caption to tell her that.

–

Race day at Zandvoort was uneventful, which, in Formula One terms, was nearly a gift.

No crashes. No surprise rain. No pit stop disasters or last-lap tire blowouts. Just a clean, controlled 72 laps around a twisty Dutch circuit with more orange smoke than actual drama.

Paige finished fourth. Azzi, fifth.

It wasn’t great. But it wasn’t bad either.

The team radios had been calm, almost boring. Fred had come over the line once — just once — with an even-toned directive: Hold positions. No fighting.

Paige had been ahead by a few seconds at that point. Azzi could’ve pushed. Would’ve, maybe, on a different weekend. But her tires weren’t fresh and her car wasn’t magic and she knew when to live to fight another day. So she sat behind her teammate and took the points.

22 total for Ferrari. Solid haul.

But now? Now they were back in the paddock, the post-race haze still clinging to their skin and hair like sweat and champagne residue, and the meeting room smelled like engine oil and air conditioning.

Azzi sat in the middle of a long glass table, hair still damp from her driver’s room shower, Mateo on one side of her, Fred on the other. Across the table sat Paige, elbow on the armrest, eyes half-lidded like she was bored already. Luka leaned in to speak to her every so often, murmuring something Azzi couldn’t hear.

Fred cleared his throat.

“Monza,” he said, which was the only word necessary to command the room’s attention. “We’ve got the car. And we’ve got the drivers.”

The weight of that hung for a second.

Azzi knew what it meant. So did Paige. They’d been in this position before, only not quite like this. Not with the standings as tight as they were. Not with Ferrari actually expecting them to win, not hoping.

Paige had scored more points in the Netherlands. Which meant that now — after months of clawing her way up — she was one single championship point behind Azzi.

One.

Azzi should’ve felt threatened, probably. But she didn’t. Not really. If anything, she felt… awake. Like the season was finally breathing down their necks for real.

Fred continued. “You know how important Monza is. You know what it means to this team. This car was built for the straights — we’ve been saying it all year. You two kept it clean today, and that’s good. But Monza’s not about clean. It’s about finishing first.”

He paused. “And second.”

Azzi felt the burn of it — that Ferrari expectation. It wasn’t new. But it was heavy in a way that always seemed heavier here, in red, under the weight of a tifosi-filled grandstand and every Italian sponsor who fancied themselves a team principal for the weekend.

“There are going to be eyes on us,” Fred said. “From inside and out. We need results.”

Mateo nodded beside her, sliding his tablet around to show some figures — wind tunnel improvements, tweaks to the rear wing, the new engine mapping that would open them up on the DRS straights. Azzi took it in, quiet but sharp-eyed.

Paige didn’t ask questions, but Azzi could see her tapping a pattern against her thigh — a tiny rhythm she only did when she was deep in her own head.

Fred looked at them both now.

“You two have gotten good at toeing the line,” he said. “But Monza’s not about points anymore. Not about strategy. Not this year.”

He looked at Paige. “If you’re ahead, finish ahead.”

Then to Azzi. “If you’re ahead, stay ahead.”

Azzi just nodded. There wasn’t much to say.

When the meeting wrapped, the engineers peeled off first, muttering to each other about sim time and cooling ducts. Fred stood, gave them a final nod, and left without ceremony — the kind of exit that told you he expected them to deliver without needing a damn pep talk.

It was just the two of them now. Azzi and Paige. Left behind in a room that had gone quiet too fast.

Paige pushed her chair back and stood, arms crossed, still looking every bit like the girl who’d just driven an entire race without breaking a sweat.

Azzi raised an eyebrow.

“Fourth place,” she said.

Paige smirked. “You’re welcome for the points.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched. “I could’ve taken you.”

“Yeah?” Paige tilted her head. “Guess we’ll never know.”

The thing was — Azzi knew she was right.

But Monza was coming. Home turf. Flat-out speed. And only one point between them now.

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.

–

The air in Monza buzzed different.

Not louder. Not even heavier. Just… sharper. Finer. Like the entire track had been scrubbed down to the grain and polished in Ferrari red, every sound bouncing twice off the barriers and settling in the bones. This wasn’t just another Grand Prix. This was the Grand Prix.

Home race. Temple of Speed. The place where miracles happened and legends were made or broken at the apex of Parabolica.

Azzi knew the pressure before she even landed. Knew it in the pit of her stomach, the way she always knew things she didn’t need to be told. The whispers. The media tension. The sponsors with private suites and fake smiles. The team principals who circled like hawks around each garage.

She handled it. She always did.

So did Paige.

That was the thing — whatever they’d done in the break, whatever they’d said or hadn’t said, they were back to being what they’d always been on track. Razor-edged and separate. Focused. Locked in. Like nothing else existed the second the helmet went on.

And the helmets — God, the helmets. Ferrari had let them pick the colors this weekend, in honor of the near-all-white car that paid tribute to the Scuderia’s earliest years. A throwback. An homage. Whatever you wanted to call it.

Azzi’s helmet was soft pink with white accents, clean and subtle, sharp where it needed to be. She hadn’t told anyone why she’d chosen pink. She didn’t need to.

Paige’s was lilac — almost silver under the Monza sun. Not loud. Just… unexpected. Understated. Cool. Very Paige.

Together, in their white fireproofs and red accents, they looked like two halves of something calculated.

Qualifying day brought with it a heat that shimmered off the asphalt like a dare. Azzi stood at the edge of the garage, engine rumble in her chest, helmet under one arm, watching the clouds hover behind the paddock. They weren’t going to interfere. They were just there to spectate, like everyone else.

The Ferrari was fast.

Shockingly fast.

They’d expected improvements — Monza was the race the car had been built for — but this? This was something else. This was a weapon on wheels. The straight-line speed alone was enough to punch a hole in the air and never look back.

Azzi felt it in Free Practice. So did Paige. The lap times were low. The tire wear was minimal. They weren’t fighting the track — they were floating over it, slicing through turns 6 and 7 like they had grip written into their blood.

But qualifying was a different beast.

First run went well. Clean. Azzi went fastest initially, but she knew it wouldn’t last. Paige hadn’t even gone out yet. Luka always held her back for traffic. Mateo glanced at Azzi after her run and gave her the familiar, unreadable engineer nod. The one that said, “Good, but don’t get comfortable.”

Second run, Q2, they were within two-tenths of each other. Azzi was smoother through turn 10. Paige was faster on the straight. They both knew it, even if no one said anything.

Then came Q3.

The big show.

Azzi went out first, nailed every sector, and took provisional pole.

The lap had felt like silk. Perfect entry into Turn One. No wobble through turns 4 or 5. The rear stuck like glue into turn 7 and opened up like a dream into the straight. It was the kind of lap that made you believe in the car, in the team, in yourself.

She parked it in the pit box and took off her gloves, eyes flicking to the screen.

Purple, purple, purple.

For now.

Then Paige went out.

Azzi didn’t need the timing monitor to know it was a good lap. She could feel it — from the sound of the throttle, the way the garage fell silent, every mechanic and engineer listening with the kind of reverence they usually saved for podiums.

Then the board lit up.

Purple, purple, purple.

Final sector: fastest of anyone. By two-hundredths.

Pole position: Paige Bueckers.

Azzi let out a breath. Didn’t even realize she’d been holding it.

On the other side of the garage, Paige pulled in, visor still down, engine ticking as it cooled. Luka came over the radio and said something only she could hear, but whatever it was made her laugh — quick and short and low.

She climbed out of the car like she’d just walked off a street corner. Calm. Loose. The purple helmet under one arm like it belonged there.

Azzi watched her from the monitor wall. Just for a second.

She wasn’t angry. Not exactly. Pole was pole. It could’ve been either of them. But the way Paige looked right now — like she expected it — made something churn low in her stomach.

Confidence was dangerous.

Paige had it in spades.

And tomorrow, they’d both have clean air.

Front row, Ferrari one-two.

Monza.

Game on.

–

The Monza crowd was electric, and the Ferraris lit the fuse.

It had started clean. Paige on pole. Azzi beside her. Front row. Home race. Red everywhere. Real red — the kind that lived in flags and banners, not just sponsorship decals. The kind of red that vibrated when the engines started and roared like a religion when the lights went out.

The first corner was textbook. Azzi tucked in right behind Paige, both Ferraris making it through the chicane without drama, the McLarens too far back to threaten. From there, it was clear: this wasn’t going to be a race for position. This was a race for pride. For the championship lead. For each other.

Lap after lap, they pushed. Hard. The kind of hard that made your hands sweat inside your gloves. That made your neck ache in the third stint. That made the team radios go quieter, not louder, because the engineers knew they couldn’t really manage them right now. They could only monitor.

“Paige’s pace looks like a one-stop,” Mateo said into Azzi’s ear around lap twelve. “She’s starting to lift through turn 10.”

Azzi didn’t answer at first. She was adjusting a brake bias setting with one hand and flicking her DRS closed with the other. Her eyes were locked on the faint shimmer of red in the distance — Paige, just outside the DRS window. She had been there for five laps. No closer. No farther.

“Copy,” Azzi said eventually. “Tell me when she boxes. I’ll follow.”

A beat. Then Mateo, dry: “You two should probably just get married.”

Azzi snorted. “I’ll propose if I pass her in pit lane.”

They went with the one-stop.

It wasn’t strategic genius — just a necessity. The car was quick on mediums, and track position mattered here more than almost anywhere. The McLarens were falling behind. Ten seconds. Then fifteen. This race was theirs alone.

Azzi finally got close again on lap twenty-four, just before the stops. Paige had been backing her up subtly, taking the corners wider, slowing entry speed to ruin her air. But Azzi knew the tricks. She’d done the same to Paige in Austria.

She ducked around the outside in turn 7 and nearly made it stick. The rear of the car twitched just slightly, the gravel taunting her, and Paige closed the door — not aggressively, just enough to remind Azzi who had track position.

They pitted one lap apart. Paige first. Azzi right after.

The outlaps were chaos — warm tires, heavy fuel still, and just enough wind picking up at Turn Three to make the front wing feel loose.

Azzi came out behind again. Just behind.

And then the race became something else.

It was the kind of fight they hadn’t had in months. Since Miami, before the break. Before hotel rooms and private flights and secrets. Before TikToks made them go viral for sharing water bottles and brushing shoulders in the garage. Before the way Azzi looked at Paige had changed from rivalry to… whatever this was.

They raced clean, but hard. There were no team orders. None would’ve been followed anyway.

Paige left space. Azzi took it. Azzi attacked through turn four and Paige held her off in turn ten. Then Paige defended into Turn One and Azzi nearly dove on her. Inches apart, no contact. Pure trust. Or something close to it.

They swapped positions twice more — once through sheer ERS timing, and once because Azzi went purple in sector two and Mateo told her to “stop playing nice.”

But Paige was holding something back. Always, always holding something back. She’d been nursing her tires for twenty laps and it showed in the final five. Her car came alive again just as Azzi’s started to slip.

The last lap came fast. Too fast.

Azzi was in DRS range but only just. She caught the rear wing coming out of the second Lesmo and knew that if she didn’t go for it in turn 11, she wasn’t going to get the chance again.

She lined it up. Wide entry. Early throttle.

But Paige had launched earlier. Perfect exit. Enough to keep her ahead.

Azzi crossed the finish line three-tenths behind her.

Three-tenths.

Close enough to taste the carbon dust from Paige’s rear wing. Close enough to count the track marbles dotting her diffuser. But not close enough.

Still, the fans loved it.

The whole straight erupted in applause. For Ferrari. For both of them.

And Azzi, hands on the wheel, staring at the cool-down screen in front of her, finally exhaled. The kind of breath you didn’t know you were holding until the checkered flag waved.

Mateo came over the radio.

“2nd. Amazing drive, Az. You gave her hell.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She just let the silence fill the cockpit.

Then: “She’s the leader now, yeah?”

“Yes,” Mateo said. “We’ll think about that next week.”

Azzi nodded once, not that anyone could see it. “Alright. Next week.”

–

The post-race media was exhausting. It always was at Monza. Flashbulbs, press pens, microphones shoved in every direction. Paige handled it like she always did — calm, smiling, hands on hips in her race suit with the light purple helmet at her feet. She didn’t gloat. Didn’t need to.

Azzi kept it tight. Professional. Said all the right things.

“We raced hard. That’s what people want to see.”

“Yes, I think we can bounce back.”

“I’m proud of the team. The car was incredible.”

And then finally, they were done.

The sun was starting to dip behind the paddock towers when Luka found them in the debrief room and tossed a folded piece of paper onto the table. “There’s a party tonight,” he said. “Private one. Team only. Some important sponsors are coming. You two are expected.”

Paige looked up from her water bottle. “Expected?”

“Celebration,” Luka said, shrugging. “It’s Monza. We won.”

Azzi met Paige’s eyes across the table.

It wasn’t about the race anymore. It hadn’t been for a while.

A party, then.

Jew a few points between them.

One week off.

And a long season left to go.

–

The Monza night was warm, the kind that clung to your skin even after the sun had gone down. Somewhere beyond the Ferrari hospitality suite, fans still lined the fences, hoping for one last glimpse of the red suits, the miracle lap, the miracle finish. But inside the party, it was just team now — team and sponsors, catered food and strong drinks, and a playlist that hadn’t been updated since the 2010s.

Azzi stood near the long bar, sleeves of her Ferrari sweatshirt shoved halfway up her forearms, a pair of black shorts stopping just above her mid thigh. Her hair was still a little damp from the shower she’d taken post-race, and there was something about the hum of the celebration that didn’t quite touch her.

Paige was close. As she always was lately.

Not in a clingy way. Not in a way that screamed anything specific. Just… close enough that Azzi noticed when she stepped away to grab another drink, and close enough that she noticed when Paige came back without one.

Paige didn’t party with coworkers. That was something Azzi was learning. Oh, she could party — she’d seen it firsthand in Colorado. Paige had game when she wanted it. But this? With engineers in polos and sponsors in button-downs and camera phones sneaking in between fake toasts? Paige wasn’t at home here.

So she stayed close.

They made their rounds — smiled for a few pictures, shook hands with people who pretended to know what “tire deg” meant, accepted compliments from VIPs who asked the same questions in slightly different accents. Azzi took a few sips of a spritz she didn’t really want. Paige nursed a bottle of water like she was keeping score.

Their PR director eventually approached, all efficient smiles and phone in hand. “Can I borrow you both for just a minute?” she said, motioning toward a side area where a few higher-ups had gathered.

Azzi knew what that meant.

She didn’t expect Dirk van Asshole to be standing there when they arrived.

But of course he was. Hair pushed back like a 90s teen idol, linen shirt unbuttoned to an offensive degree, watch too big and too gold. One hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of something that definitely wasn’t water. He smiled too easily, like he thought they were all in on a joke that didn’t exist.

“Azzi,” he said, stepping in with the kind of friendliness that made her want to physically recoil. “What a race.”

“Thanks,” she said, too flat to hide it.

“And Paige,” he added, like he was just remembering her name. “What a finish. I mean — we all thought Azzi had it in the bag.”

Paige’s smile didn’t move. “Guess not.”

Dirk laughed, too loud. “Well. She’s still the people’s champion, yeah? Always a favorite.”

Azzi felt Paige glance her way. One of those side glances that wasn’t really a glance at all. More like a signal.

Get me out of here.

Azzi didn’t hesitate. She blinked slowly, dropped her gaze to the floor like she was trying to focus, then lifted a hand to her forehead.

“Sorry,” she said quietly. “Headache. I think… I think I need to sit down.”

Dirk’s eyes widened — just enough to confirm the trick worked. “Totally fine. You’ve had a long day. I’ll grab you some water.”

“No need,” Paige said quickly, hand already grazing Azzi’s elbow. “I’ll take her to the bathroom. She just needs air.”

Dirk blinked. “I could—”

“You couldn’t,” Paige muttered under her breath, just loud enough that Azzi caught it.

They left the circle with enough polite nods to make it believable, slipping through a small hallway toward the guest bathrooms.

Once the door clicked shut behind them, Paige leaned against the marble counter, exhaled hard, and said, “I’m so done with that man.”

Azzi laughed softly. “No, he sucks.”

“He talks like he’s in a reality show,” Paige muttered, tugging her sleeves over her hands. “And not a good one. One of those ones where everyone ends up engaged after four episodes.”

“He’s not even a sponsor or a driver,” Azzi added. “He’s just, like… related to someone important.”

“So was Napoleon.”

Azzi blinked. “What?”

“Exactly.”

They didn’t get much further. The door creaked open and in stumbled a girl who couldn’t have been older than nineteen, wearing a mini dress that looked stolen from an influencer’s closet and a pair of heels that were definitely not made for standing. She squinted at them, half-recognizing, then muttered something about champagne and disappeared into a stall.

Paige raised her brows.

Azzi nodded once.

Time to go.

They slipped out of the bathroom like nothing had happened, back through the suite with practiced smiles and quiet waves. The party was still going strong, but they walked out unbothered, not making a scene. Just two drivers leaving a team function, still in uniform, still technically on the clock.

They were halfway down the corridor back to the elevators when Azzi’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out, thumbed open her notifications, and froze.

“What?” Paige asked.

Azzi turned the screen so Paige could see.

A photo.

A little grainy, but clear enough. Paige, slightly turned toward Azzi at the bar. Azzi leaning in to say something. Both smiling. Both unguarded. The caption was dumb — something about chemistry and Ferrari fire — but the tweet had gone viral in under ten minutes. Thousands of likes. Hundreds of retweets.

Paige blinked. “Already?”

“We didn’t even make it to the elevator.”

They stared at it for a second longer.

Then Azzi hit the side button, locking her phone.

Paige didn’t say anything else, but she smiled. Real this time.

And Azzi, without realizing, smiled back.

–

It was almost midnight when they finally made it back to Azzi’s room. Her hair was up now, loosely twisted into a bun that had started falling apart the second they left the party. She’d kicked off her sneakers near the hotel door, and now her sweatshirt hung off one shoulder, oversized and a little too warm for the air conditioning she’d turned up as high as it could go.

The TV was on, volume low — something stupid in Italian she wasn’t even pretending to follow. Paige was stretched out on the bed, half under the covers and still in her Ferrari shorts. Her legs were bare and tanned and pulled up at the knee, phone balanced on her stomach, one earbud in, the other dangling.

Azzi flopped down beside her, not quite on top of her, but close. Her legs slid under Paige’s, her bare foot brushing the side of Paige’s calf as she tugged a blanket over them. The room smelled like clean skin and leftover hair product. Not unpleasant. Just lived-in.

She unlocked her phone without thinking. Scrolled to TikTok.

And immediately choked on a laugh.

“Oh my God.”

Paige glanced over with one eye still on her own screen. “What.”

“We have ship edits.”

That got her attention.

Paige lifted her head slightly, frowning, until Azzi turned her phone toward her. Onscreen, the now-viral party photo zoomed slowly toward them with the dramatic flair only TikTok could summon. Some soft indie track played in the background — something with too much reverb and lyrics about fate and stars and “the way she looks at her.” Then came the slow dissolve into clips from the paddock, podium glances, moments where they brushed shoulders walking to the media pen.

The caption read:

“She looks at her like she’s the checkered flag.”

With a string of red heart emojis and a #F1Lesbians tag thrown in for good measure.

Azzi blinked. “I—okay, the effort is wild.”

“There’s music,” Paige said, dry as hell.

Azzi laughed, scrolling to another. This one had a heavier beat, more edits cut to radio calls — Mateo’s voice shouting “Paige is right behind you!” followed by a slow-mo of them walking through the tunnel in Miami. A pause, then a hard cut to the photo from tonight again. It was the final frame.

Azzi snorted. “That one’s a little dramatic.”

“They’re all dramatic,” Paige said, leaning her chin lightly on Azzi’s shoulder now. “We drive cars in circles. This is what people do to make it seem deep.”

Azzi kept scrolling, letting the edits autoplay. They were everywhere. Some were sweet. Others full-on romantic. A few were just reaction videos — fans freaking out, screaming into cameras, holding up their phones with wide eyes. One girl was fully crying. Actual tears. The caption just read: “I KNEW THEY WERE ENDGAME.”

Azzi raised a brow. “Endgame?”

Paige shrugged. “Bold of them to assume I make it to the end.”

Azzi tilted her head toward her. “You planning to DNF this storyline or…?”

Paige made a low sound in her throat. “I don’t know. I think I might be in a multi-season arc.”

Azzi smirked, but the words made her stomach flip a little. Not in a bad way.

They kept watching, switching between TikTok and Twitter now. The comments were a trip. Half were cute — people talking about how they always knew, how the looks in their eyes were “different.” Others were strange. Intense. Too much. A few men had decided to throw in their opinions, which, unsurprisingly, made the vibe go downhill fast.

“Why are there always men in the lesbian edits?” Azzi muttered, flicking past a comment that started with “this is why girls are single these days…”

Paige didn’t respond right away.

Her hand, warm and absent-minded, was tracing circles near Azzi’s knee under the blanket. Nothing too serious. Just… casual. Thoughtless, but not cold. Familiar. Her other hand came up to tug lightly at a piece of Azzi’s hair that had fallen from her bun.

Azzi paused.

Paige wasn’t like this all the time. Not even most of the time. But when she was — when she let her guard drop for even half a night — it felt like gravity shifted. Like Paige wasn’t just near her, but orbiting her. A little too close. A little too much.

But it didn’t feel bad.

Just confusing. In that warm, electric way that made Azzi forget what she was even watching.

“Don’t let Fred see these,” Paige murmured suddenly.

Azzi laughed. “Because?”

Paige sat up a little, propping her head on her fist. Her face was blank, but her eyes weren’t.

“Because he’ll ask if we’re ‘managing our brand well enough,’” she said, but her tone was light — like a joke.

Only it wasn’t really a joke.

Azzi didn’t say anything for a second. She just watched Paige, her face half-lit by the blue glow of the screen, the corner of her mouth turned in that almost-smile that meant she was pretending something wasn’t bothering her.

Azzi broke the silence. “He’d survive.”

Paige didn’t look up. “Would he, though?”

Azzi closed the app.

“Okay. Then we don’t let Fred see them.”

Paige met her eyes finally. Something in her gaze softened — not exactly gratitude, but something close to it. Relief maybe. Or something she wasn’t ready to name.

Azzi pulled the blanket tighter around both of them, settled back into the pillows. Paige adjusted too, falling in line like she always did, head dropping next to hers, arm brushing hers, breath slowing down with the quiet.

The room was still now. The edits were gone. The fans, the tweets, the noise — all of it faded into the low hum of hotel air and the gentle weight of Paige’s arm resting against her own.

Azzi stared at the ceiling for a long time before turning off the lamp.

Whatever they were — whatever people wanted to call it — she didn’t know. But she knew this: Paige had stayed.

And that mattered more than anything the internet could say.

[grahamzcracker]

𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐞, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐞 | 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐦𝐚𝐧

i am not the one you want, babe . i am not the one you need .

▸ it ain’t me babe - joan baez

— dating s3 shauna (who is not yet over jackie, but shes trying!)

w.c : 670 / c.w : brief smut at the end (fingering, switch!shauna ??), probably a bit ooc... / request status : open!

a/n: sorry if there’s any grammatical errors—i’m tired as hell but cant sleep 😭 this one's been sitting in my drafts for a hot minute, figured i'd finally start it! (also... my first time writing anything remotely sexual, hope its not too bad)

sfw

⌗ ever since jackie's death and everything with her baby, shauna obviously hasn't been doing well. thats when you come along.

⌗ you'd been eyeing her for a while, even had a crush on her before the crash, you just never acted on it because you didn't think she'd ever be into you in a million years — she was jackie's, whether she'd admit that or not, and you respected that.

⌗ seeing how much she was hurting after jackie's passing, you took it upon yourself to try and cheer her up. you gave her little handmade gifts here and there, stuck by her side on everything, and just sat in silence with her when she needed company but didn't want to talk. you were fine with not talking, it seemed to be making her happy, and that's all you cared about.

⌗ at first, she didn’t understand what you saw in her. she was mean, aggressive, closed-off… everything you weren’t. but as the days went on, she realized you had no bad intentions and just genuinely liked her, and she stopped trying to push you away.

⌗ things seemed to be going okay for a while, but you couldn't help but notice the way she'd zone out while talking with you, or while you were talking at her, it was practically every conversation — whether she was bored, completely uninterested, or her mind on something/someone else, you didn't know, you just tried to brush it off.

⌗ once she finally let her walls down a bit with you, she started letting you sleep in her hut. she'd never say it out loud, but it helped having someone with her at night. a living, breathing body she could hold onto and seek comfort in. often times at night, when it was just the two of you in your hut, she would either hold you close or rest her head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat as you ran your fingers through her hair.

⌗ on days she was more stressed than usual, the two of you would go into the woods and sit near the lake, taking comfort in each other's presence. that was all she needed — to simply be near you. her mind sometimes wandered to jackie, wishing she hadn't made the mistakes she did. if she hadn't made them, then maybe it would be jackie sitting next to her, not you.

nsfw

⌗ one day, shauna was in a particularly rough mood, so she seemed out the one thing that made her feel better. you. you were sitting in your now-shared hut, etching something into a piece of bark when shauna came in.

⌗ she looked pissed off, no doubt that it was about mari again, this has been a common occurence lately — practically part of your daily routine at this point — shauna would come in frustrated, expecting you to fix it, which you did every time. she'd give you her signature sad, brown eyes, practically pleading for you to make it all better.

⌗ you'd bring a hand up to cup her face, then she'd slam her lips onto yours. her hands would find your waist, slipping under your top as she kissed you hungrily.

⌗ some days she preferred to take control, others she just wanted to lay back and let you take care of her. this was one of those days. she laid back and panted softly as you pressed gentle kisses to her neck, your fingers making their way into her underwear. as your fingers finally got to work, she let out a low moan, and you swear you heard jackie's name fall from her lips.

"fuck, jackie..." the words were breathless, nearly silent, but you heard them. her hand made it's way into your hair, giving it a slight tug as your fingers plunged in and out of her dripping cunt. "yeah... just like that, baby." she praised softly. feeling her hips buck against your hand, you brought your thumb up to rub her clit, bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

--

a/n again : ok hi i hope the last bit wasnt horrible. im beyond inexperienced. (tmi...?) so.

[atthecenterofeverything]

ultimately so many people and especially so many marxists (!) embrace a positivist view where the issue with violence, structures of subjugation, and even interpersonal relationships is that people are not educated or informed or intelligent enough to see, understand and apply the truth - you'll see it in the constant blaming of everything on a lack of media literacy, the omnipresent (and ableist) references to brain damage or brainrot, pretty much every kind of scoldposting, the appeals to Read Theory! that never go beyond a shallow criticism of a supposed "anti-intellectualism", the praising of the western canon as Real Literature, the idea that the issue is that people online lack Nuance etc.

people disagree with you because you have irreconcilable worldviews. every resource you could share with them is also embedded with its own ideology. you are not revealing the objective truth of the world to them; you are (and I am, and we all are) furthering your own agenda. a zionist on tumblr does not have a problem of a lack of reading comprehension; they are comprehending history and texts according to their own ideology. not to even mention that the solutions often offered (english class, humanities education, high school reading tests) are bourgeois institutions that educate according to a capitalist framework. this is even more visible for personal situations, where individual preferences are often presented as objectively superior ways of interaction (which, again, need to be Taught to the masses) but this applies to any political message. you can try to convince people or change their worldview, but a starting point of assumption that the issue with bigotry and harm is that people are unaware of uneducated or stupid is simply not a productive way to understand the world - or to reckon with your own ideological investments

[honey-with-pancake]

This is the most I’ve ever talked about a new chapter. Guess I’ve been ‘starved’ for too long lol.

So I have read an amazing and really interesting analysis from @yoma.pudu on IG that I eagerly wanna share. I would paraphrase it and add some of my own thoughts in.

They say that Mo is a person who prefers being alone and independent, but now he has made a change by accepting moving in invitation of He Tian. And when he pauses when he notices his dirty sneakers. That pause is not only out of respect for Tian’s clean space, but also because he still feels out of place, like he doesn’t quite ‘fit in’ where he is.

However, instead of backing down, he just brushes off the dirt he brought in from outside so he can continue. I think it reflects Old Xian’s intention of showing that Mo has become ‘better’ as he has promised to He Tian, although he’s still unable to overcome his insecurities. But now, Mo no longer evades the issues and let them hold him back from pursuing his desires, which clearly is being with He Tian, just as the dirty shoes no longer stop him from stepping inside. He just removes the obstacles and gets rid of the issues to move forward. Because after all the separations and reunions, he realizes that if he doesn’t seize the opportunity and be honest with himself out of fear, he will miss out on He Tian once again, and this time, it might be for a lifetime. Perhaps the fear of being apart had become so unbearable and overwhelming, it overshadows Mo’s insecurities and self-doubt, and the thought hurts so much, just thinking how Mo had to endure it the whole time period when he had to start growing up by himself and facing this world on his own without He Tian’s company 🥹

And Yoma says that when Mo asks He Tian for slippers and explains why he hesitates to step inside, he indirectly acknowledges that he intends to stay. There’s no ‘no’ or any directed rejection. It’s just a need to adapt, to belong without imposing.

For He Tian, he understands what Mo’s thinking without the need for words, and he doesn’t care if the sneakers are dirty, because the only thing that matters, the most important thing, is that Mo has decided to be with him. It has always been his longing dream for Mo to open up to him, and now, the reality exceeds everything he ever longed for. So without hesitation, he straightforwardly expresses that Mo belongs here, with him, in ‘their home’, unconditionally.

I really wanna say thank to @yoma.pudu because their analysis is so heart touching and satisfying 🥹 I hope you guys enjoy reading this. I promise this would be my last yap on this chapter 🤣

[jiminiepabov]

Why you didn't enter void yet?𐙚₊˚⊹♡

This my first post about void in this account

(DISCLAMIER:post is made with my experience, my assumption and my opinion+long post ahead+i will change the aesthetic of this post soon)

Do as I say. Take a deep breathe. Stop worrying. Relax. Do or eat something that makes your mind relaxed and happy. Now read this post.

Doing favorite method or just affriming whether by lying down or sitting up and everything goes nice . And all of sudden you wonder "why I'm NOT in void yet?" Or "Am I close to void?" If this is you, you’re doing totally opposite of what you should do. You are not entering void state, you’re inducing it which means you should presist by affriming or just being that you're already in the void. You don't wonder why you’re NOT in void yet? Or whether you’re close to it or not. You need not to affrim until you’re mind collapse just don't ask yourself why you’re NOT in void yet? or am I close to void? and similar stuffs like can I able to enter void?, am I doing anything wrong? You don't need to stress, just affrim/do your method/embody the state of void. Don't wonder whether you’re close to void or why you’re NOT in void yet because you're the void.

While having symptoms why you guys focus on them? Why are you chasing them? Why are you keeping them as a goal to enter void? Why are focusing on it like it is a VIP? When you feel symptoms you feel like you're almost there but why you didn't enter void? Your job is to affriming/do your method/embodying the state not to chase. Whenever you chase for symptom, the void state starts to run away from you(the void is you). If you’re having symptoms just let it happen. If it was intense relax your body and please control your mind, please baby control mind.

Don't wait for symptoms. Please listen to me don't wait for symptoms, if you’re looking for it you never gonna have it. And if don't have symptoms it's okay you gonna enter void state because symptoms are NOT MANDATORY. I entered void state for the first time without having symptoms. If I can then you can too my love.

You waking up in bed knowing that you didn't enter void state and started to complain that you didn't enter void for whole day robotically. Then you need to work on your self concept baby. Hear me out! You need work on self concept because you're affirming that you didn't enter void state for a long time and you're tired of it. To work on your self concept just be aware of your thoughts and affrim that you're master void and you can use your favorite affrimations ml.

Your creating your own subconscious blockages, they are not real but you're making it real. If you want to remove it just simply decide it. Yes, that's it. If you don't want to do it I prefer you guys to physch-k or hypnosis. Don't know what blockages are here some example:-

Creating an assumption that you can't able to enter void state.

Creating an assumption that you can't able to enter void again after you did once.

Creating an assumption that everyone can't enter void state.

Ect.......

Do you think that void is something higher than you? Or Are you begging to enter the void? ml you’re putting void on pedestal instead of you babe. It is simple to take it off. Just simplify the void. Ex:- Void is just state so, you can able enter it whenever you want or void is just body asleep mind awake state. You can simplify as much as you can. It really helps so, simplify it. It doesn’t matter It is real or not ml.

Procrastinating to enter void. Whenever you Procrastinate you must do a task, like drinking soy sauce. Ect.... If that doesn't work for you talk to yourself, ask yourself why are you Procrastinating. And convince yourself to not procrastinate any more dear.

Desperate to enter void. Just think it, void is just a state then why are you desperating. Having dead line, know that you're void and you can enter whenever you want.

If you force yourself to enter void, it creates anxiety and stress but not way to void. Do you sleep by forcing yourself? No, right. The same goes for void, just let it happen don't force yourself.

If you have suicidal mentality you need to know that your in control, you don't need to stress out. You create everything so please be patient ml. Don't do anything wrong.

Assumption creates reality so, presist in a assumption you're master at void.

Hope this post helps you. If you have any doubts my asks is open for you dear. Don't mind if this post have grammars mistakes or looks like shit because I wrote post while watching a match.

Go enter void state rn my love<333

Signing off

~𝓙𝓲𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓲𝓮𝓹𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓿

[greatw0r]

domestic life with van palmer ! van palmer x reader

brrrr my head is so fuzzy and I'm so warm just thinking about spending your days with Van- your partner, in your apartment with your orange kitty!!

Your apartment is mostly decorated with things you both like, her vhs and movie posters, and the things you love all over the house. having matching mugs, keychains, silverware, pajamas, robes - literally everything.

I don't think Van is a morning person- she prefers staying in bed with you in the morning watching the sun hit your face and shine the whole room- just enjoying these small moments.

Fridays are for takeout and movie nights. When it's her night, they want to show you movies that you haven't watched that she loves and only she knows about.

Cuddling together on the couch with your cat in the middle of you sleeping peacefully. She definitely was hesitant about getting a cat- but then all she thought about was taking care of him with you- and he's like your son, she loves it.

Dancing around the kitchen late at night after having some drinks - her holding your waist and twirling you around just so that she could kiss you right after.

She loves the small moments- they are very important to her - she loves when you're cooking together, washing the dishes, cleaning the house, decorating.

Van coming home with a snack from a coffee shop and magazines about movies and about your favorite interest because if there's one thing van does is listen to her girl.

Listens to you talk about everything that you like and she always know - knows your favorite food, your favorite bands/singers, and even your most niche interest you thought she didn't know about.

You reading that said magazine while she takes a shower and dresses more comfortable clothes, only to meet you in the couch and be attacked with kisses.

She opens every door for you, wants to pay for everything and will pay even if you grab her arm and tell her no. Brushes your hair and even learns how to do your favorite hairstyle, walks by the side of the road so you won't, grabs your bags while shopping, drives the car...

If she gets home late, and she sees you sleeping in the couch with the TV on she'll get ready real fast and then turns off the TV and picks you up- bridal style, puts you in bed and kisses your forehead. She hates to see you uncomfortable and you waiting for her even tho you're clearly tired.

" honey I've told you to go to bed when I'm late- you always complain about your back in the morning " she says while you got more comfortable in bed, but you just cuddle into her and put your face on her chest. " I wann' wait for you " you mumble and she sighs kissing your head. " I know... I know you do pretty "

If you want to decorate the house or buy some more furniture- she guarantees she can build it or restore it but she gets frustrated after an hour and gives up, only to try it again the next day.

When she does it shes all cocky. " See, i told you i could do it- im handy " you chuckle and shake your head. " Sure honey"

Honestly its just a dream living with Van and sharing a home with her. Van makes your days brighter and you couldn’t be more happy about it.

[theseinfernalangels]

Could you do #34 for Brennan

It’s gives me the vibes a younger fem!reader who’s never been loved by a real man 😖

34: Kisses that start on their fingers and run up their arm, eventually ending on their lips.

A/N: Anon has me giggling fr 😭🤭

“Love,” Brennan says softly, watching you with what you like to refer to as the Confused Puppy Eyes. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

You shake your head, grabbing at the roll of bandages that he’d snatched from your hands. “I’m fine, Bren. Seriously. Don’t worry about it.”

The older man frowns. Your mannerisms were sometimes confusing to him, but this was on a while new level. You’d gained a few pretty gnarly-looking wounds on your arms from helping some First-Years in combat earlier, and they would be so easy to fix with his signet — but for some reason, you won’t budge.

He takes a deep breath in. Fine. If you want to be that way and play hyper-independent, then he’ll just have to break your walls in. Easy.

Slowly, Brennan sinks to his knees in front of you, keeping his eyes fully trained on yours. The motion completely surprises you; Brennan, while being the sweetest man you’ve ever met, was not one to get on his knees for anyone.

Well…Excluding that one time. But that was besides the point.

You raise an eyebrow, not quite understanding the gesture. “Bren?”

He doesn’t reply, instead dipping his head to press a kiss against your knee. Your eyes soften, and while you’re distracted, he gently pries the roll of bandages from you again and inconspicuously rolls it under your shared bed. Instantly, though, your back straightens, and that soft look on your face twists into a scowl. “Brennan!”

“Hush.” The words on your tongue die as he reaches up and grabs at your own injured arm, tugging the blood-streaked limb closer to his face. He inspects it with narrowed amber eyes for a moment before he looks back to you. “Don’t talk, okay? I know you’re tired, love.”

You blink, completely forgetting the sharp words you’d been ready to bite at him just a moment ago. Sometimes, Brennan insisted on being the one to fix everything, even though you were damn well capable of doing it all yourself. There was no doubt that it was frustrating, but when you added his gentle words and soft touches, you guess you could settle for handing things off to someone else for a change.

And that’s exactly what he does. Taking your hand in his, Brennan brushes his lips over your knuckle like a prince, and you stiffen as you feel the familiar rush of warmth exuded by his signet.

“You know,” he whispers, moving his head up to your wrist. “I get that you prefer to be an independent woman sometimes.” He turns your hand over to mouth against your pulse. “That’s okay. I respect you and your autonomy. You’re so strong, my love, and you’re so capable of a lot.”

A shiver runs down your back at the words, and you have to fight to stay still in your place. Why did your lover have to be so…considerate? You always took care of yourself — not even boyfriends or your family could really attest to keeping an eye out for you — so why did he have to go and raise that bar?

He shifts a little, running his lips up your forearm. Slowly, easily, you feel your flesh start to knit back together in streams of warmth and light. “I respect that,” he repeats. “But I’d like to ask something of you.”

Pulling away, his eyes meet yours again. “Let me take care of you,” he says, more of a suggestion than a question. “I can handle this one, okay? Let me help you here, and then you can take the reins back. Promise.”

Your free hand curls into a little fist, but you can’t force yourself to look anywhere but at him with the way he looks at you. It’s soft, caring, but also stern — something that the Lieutenant Colonel could never really put to rest, even in the safety of his bedroom.

Finally, your shoulders drop at the unexpected pressure of his stare, and you sigh, averting your gaze defeatedly. “You’re not gonna let me say no, aren’t you?” You ask quietly.

To no one’s surprise, Brennan shakes his head. “Nope,” he hums, moving back to start trailing kisses back up your arm. “I like taking care of you, sweet girl. I’m gonna end up doing it, whether you want me to or not. These kind of things become unconscious after a time.”

Your fingers flex awkwardly when he reaches your shoulder. The wounds on your arm are long gone now, but the man continues his ministrations and moves his lips against your skin as if to consume you. “I just don’t want you to feel obligated,” you object halfheartedly. “It’s not fair to you with how busy you are. You need rest, too, Bren.”

He nods, his other hand snaking into your hair to gently pull your neck as he noses along the column of your throat. “True,” he admits. “But I’m more concerned about you.” He nips at your skin before making his way to your jawline. “Which is why we’re here now.”

Your lips quirk up a little as he presses a lingering kiss to your cheek, and then he pulls away, looking at you expectantly. 

“What do you say, huh?” He whispers, fingers running along the now-bloodless skin of your arm. “Let me take care of you for a bit?”

Your brow furrows. “But you just— Oh.” You cut yourself off when his own smile turns a little sly. “I suppose this is the part where you actually kiss me?”

The feeling of his mouth settling on yours is the only answer you need.

[cherrykpawp]

Heat // Ch 8

Rating: Explicit, Mature (M)

Pairings: Yunho x reader, Mingi x reader, San x reader, Wooyoung x reader, Yeosang x reader

This chapter includes: hybrids, Afab!reader, reader-centric, slow burn, fluff, smut (small part in beginning), mutual pining, Dance instructor!Yunho, Owner!Yunho, Calico hybrid!reader, Black cat hybrid!San, Husky hybrid!Mingi, Dobermann hybrid!Yeosang, Maine Coone hybrid!Wooyoung

Taglist: @m-flowerjunnie-oa, @mrsminseochoi, @strawwff, @sunlight120902, @awkward-fucking-thing, @menialmoonchild, @jjongsho, @chanscase143, @lililiarina, @babyquokkasworld

W.C: 8.9k

MDNI!!

The past week has been a journey—battling your ferocious heat and finally returning to your daily life. Since your third day, San and Mingi have assisted you through the remainder of your heat. Their consideration and attentiveness to your preferences helped you through the most difficult days. Through your experiences together, Mingi had gained better control of his possessiveness, treating you like porcelain. San has been the pillar of composure, keeping a watchful eye on everything—not only ensuring the experience was pleasurable for you but also allowing himself to enjoy it as well. 

On your final day, you spent it with Yunho, just as he had promised. With all your energy drained already from the early days of your heat—and from Yunho himself—the last wave was slower and more intimate. The heat in your body began to subside, though a gentle warmth still lingered, and the sensitivity in your ears and tail had faded. While a trace of brain fog remained, you were more aware of your state—more keenly attuned to everything around you.

You sat on Yunho’s lap, your palms resting on his knees as you panted softly. His feet were planted firmly on the ground as he perched on the edge of the bed, mirroring your posture with his palms behind him, using them to steady himself. His hair was disheveled, a result of you grabbing it and running your fingers through it when you two kissed. You rocked your hips along his—very languidly, passionately—mouths open, releasing soft, wordless sounds, savouring the delectation of the moment. Yunho screwed his eyes shut, opening them when he remembered to breathe. His teeth were gritted as he watched you move against him at an agonizingly slow pace—it felt like you were teasing him at this point.

“You’re doing amazing, beautiful,” Yunho hissed, praising you as his body responded to every clench of your core. 

You hummed, nodding as you leaned into his arms, wrapping your arms around his back. His hands gently rubbed your back, trailing down to the supple skin of your thighs. He thought you were asking for assistance, tightening his grip on your bottom half as he thrusted into you, guiding you up and down his shaft. Yunho dug his chin into your shoulder, half-air groans escaping him.

Your body went limp against him as you slowly came to your senses. The pads of your fingers pressed into the soft skin of his back, soft pants escaping your lips as you wearily began to speak. “Yun-ho…” You buried your face into his chest, resting your cheek against it. “Yun…”

“Yes, darling~,” Yunho murmured, tilting his head back, teetering on the edge of his climax.

“I-I think my heat… It’s over,” You huffed, digging your nails into his back. 

The brain fog officially lifted, and the strenuous heat that had once consumed you was gone. You felt like yourself again—except now, you felt the aftermath of everything—overwhelming oversensitivity from your days prior. 

Yunho halted his movements, his high slipping away in the process, but he didn’t mind. He pulled back to look at your face, cupping it in his hands. His eyes searched your expression, relieved to see you were back in reality.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you chuckled breathlessly, shyly averting your gaze from his endearing stare. “Seriously, it’s over.”

He didn’t know what to do next. “No brain fog?”

You shook your head. “None.”

“That’s great to hear.” Yunho tucked your hair behind your ear, as if he hadn’t seen you in ages. “Now that it’s over, I guess we don’t have to…do this…anymore, yeah?”

You shrugged, biting your bottom lip. “We can continue if you want to.”

“It’s not if I want to. It’s about whether you want to—whether you need it.” He delicately ran his fingers through your hair, brushing it back from your face. 

“Were you close?”

“I was, but I’m fine with stopping here. I promise.” He was more than relieved—overjoyed—that you were no longer in pain and would soon return to your regular life.

You tightened your arms around his back, pressing your cheek against his chest to hold him closer. “Continue.”

Yunho hesitated. “I-Is this really what you want?”

You began to rut yourself against him willingly, softly whimpering on his chest. “Absolutely,” you reassured him, a gentle lilt in your voice. “But please… slow. I’m a bit sensitive.”

Yunho tilted his head slightly, then refocused, immersing himself back into the moment. When he rocked you onto his length, you released a shaky breath, shuddering at the sensation. At first, he pulled back, taken aback by your reaction—worried he had already hurt you. 

“God, is this how you felt the whole time?” you asked, quivering under his touch. He wasn’t sure what you meant, but he decided to save the question for later. 

Yunho realized this was completely different from the past five or six days—you were fully present now, and there was no longer a need to sate your heat. This was purely the two of you,  loving each other intimately. He kept his pace slow, just as you asked, ensuring every movement was still centered around you. Since he was close to his previous high already, it didn’t take much for him to reach it. He was officially spent for the day. While his first experience with your heat had been new and invigorating, he now understood his stamina wasn’t quite what he thought it was. The two of you rested in each other's arms, basking in the comforting silence. The only sounds that filled the room were his slowing heartbeat and the steady rhythm of his breath.

You broke the silence first, your voice suddenly filled with sentiment. “Thank you… for helping me through my heat.” You leaned back on his lap, brushing his hair out of his face. His forehead was damp with sweat, and his cheeks were flushed—he looked incredibly cute like this.

“I told you, I’d take care of you,” he replied softly.

You hummed in response, knowing he would, especially since he had never given you any reason to think otherwise. 

“Can we go shower? I feel gross,” you pouted, your ears flicking at the thought of the thick sweat coating your skin.

Yunho chuckled, Yeah, you were definitely back. He smiled playfully. “Are you able to stand or walk?”

“Guess we’re gonna have to find out,” you winced, feeling the ache in your legs. “Because I have no idea myself.”

You managed to make it to the bathroom in one piece. Yunho had carried you there to make the journey easier, but when he set you down to stand, he excused himself for a moment.

You furrowed your brows, confused. “I thought we were showering together?”

“We will, I just want to prepare our clothes first. Start without me, I’ll join you soon.” He shut the door, leaving you alone for a few.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, surrounded by an array of love bites in all shades of purple, each varying in size. Turning around, you could see more markings on your shoulders and back. You couldn’t remember who did what, but they all did a huge number on you. Then again, it seemed like Yunho had suffered the same fate when you realized you weren’t in heat anymore. His chest wasn’t as decorated as yours, but there was an adequate amount of fervor in the marks that scattered his skin. You felt absolutely beautiful with them.

Tired of feeling sticky, you hobbled to the tub and stood under the showerhead, adjusting the water to a comfortably hot temperature. You let the warmth drench you, relishing the sensation, realizing just how much you had missed showers. You couldn’t wait to wash your tail and get it fluffy again, deciding you’d give it extra attention. The thought of dousing yourself in the soothing vanilla scent of the shampoo, conditioner, and body wash brought a smile to your face. 

You didn’t hear the bathroom door open over the sound of the water—even with your heightened senses—not until the shower curtain slid open, then closed again. Yunho stepped in, towering behind you.

“You’re going to drown if you stand under the showerhead like that.”

You turned to face him. “No, I won’t.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” he said coftly, carding your wet hair back. He’s grown used to touching you now, though he didn’t know if you liked it or not. “Are you glad to be back?”

You nodded, stretching your arms. “Every wave hurt like hell. But even so, I don’t remember much.”

Yunho frowned. “Really? You don’t remember anything?”

“Only bits and pieces,” you confirmed, trying to understand why he suddenly looked sad. “Some with you, some with San and Mingi. I don’t know if it was a dream, but… I think I was on a call with Wooyoung and Yeosang at one point?”

Even Yunho looked perplexed. He wasn’t sure if they called or not, so he simply shrugged. “I wouldn’t put it past Wooyoung, honestly. I did tell Seonghwa you were in heat, so if he had plans or needed me to babysit them, I let him know I was fully booked—with you.” He paused, remembering that you two were supposed to be showering. “Come, let me wash your hair. We’ve got all the time in the world to talk afterwards.”

You had no complaints—you gratefully turned your back to him, reaching for the shampoo on the shelf. While you’d spent your heat with San and Mingi, Yunho had restocked your favorite shampoo and conditioner, knowing it had run out the first day. He poured an ample amount into his palm, lathered it, then gently massaged it into your scalp. You immediately began purring, missing the soothing way his fingers worked through your hair. 

As he focused on your hair, you reached for the body wash, starting with your tail—it felt so heavy—before working your way around your limbs. Yunho shampooed your hair twice, wanting you to feel as clean and comfortable as possible. But as he worked through the second round, a thought that had been gnawing at him finally broke through.

“Y/n…” he said quietly, his voice tinged with apprehension. Your ears perked up, signaling that he had your full attention. “You told me to ask you again—after your heat. And since it seems like you don't remember most of what happened… I figured now might be the right time.”

Your heart nearly skipped a beat—you weren’t sure why, but something about his tone made the conversation feel serious. “I’m listening.”

“... Was it okay that I kissed you?” he asked, the words slow and deliberate. “Hongjoong told me that during heats, hybrids sometimes say or want things they don’t mean afterward. And then Mingi told me his experiences at a heat hotel, and…” he trailed off. “It's been on my mind since.” His fingers stilled against your scalp, and in the quiet that followed, it was clear— he was being completely serious.

You pouted, turning to face him again. “You’ve been worried about that this whole time?” Yunho couldn’t meet your eyes, his countenance shy. “I’m completely fine with it,” you reassured him. “Honestly, I think I would’ve been more offended if you didn’t.” You giggled softly, realizing he’d been stressing over something that, to you, was never a concern. Still, it was a big deal for him—and you respected that. “I actually love kissing,” you added with a smile. “It's more intimate to me. And, well, we also had sex. I don’t think you need to worry that much.”

He playfully rolled his eyes, causing you to giggle again. “I know… but your comfort comes first,” he said timidly. “If you had told me at any point that you didn’t want that, I would’ve never done it again.”

“That’s very sweet of you,” you looked at him with endearing eyes. “But, I promise, I would’ve loved it if it came from you anyway.” You couldn’t help but smile as you watched Yunho’s ears flush red from the reassurance, a warm wave of affection filling you. You’d missed how easily he became flustered from the smallest compliments. 

He finished washing your hair, opting to wash his own as you took the time to scrub his back for him. Your eyes couldn’t help but trace the marks and scratches on his skin, silently approving of the art you’d made, though you found yourself absently focusing on the area for a moment. You snapped out of your thoughts when you heard the snap of his conditioner bottle open, the sound breaking your focus as he began lathering his hair. The moment your hands began to prune was when you decided it was time to leave the shower. You felt utterly refreshed, clean, and more beautiful. 

The routine of Yunho blow-drying your hair and tail while you brushed your teeth continued, just like always. It seemed like he genuinely enjoyed performing these small acts of service, no matter how many times you reassured him he didn’t have to. You suppose you might as well get used to it. You did blow-dry his hair in return—he deserved at least that—and honestly, you enjoyed being close to him, especially when you could still smell the vanilla scent lingering from him.

The two of you dressed quickly, you sighed in content as the silk pajamas brushed against your freshly washed skin—it truly felt like stepping into a new body. When you opened the medicine cabinet and saw the bottle of heat suppressants, the epiphany finally hit you: you were no longer in heat. It was over, at least for the next two months. Without hesitation, you took your first pill. Yunho watched you quietly from behind, leaning against the bathroom wall. He could see the relief in your posture, and a smile of admiration tugging at his lips. 

Once you closed the bottle and medicine cabinet, you inhaled deeply, grounding yourself in the moment. “Let's go eat.”

On your way down the stairs, you noticed San or Mingi were nowhere to be found—which was strange, considering they were usually downstairs before you. You considered sitting at the dining table to wait for your food, but the need to be close to Yunho won out. Wrapping your arms around him from behind, you stuck to him as he moved around the kitchen, following his every step. He didn’t mind it in the slightest. Yunho had decided to cook breakfast for everyone—to acknowledge the effort and care each of you had put in over the past week. 

“I wonder why they’re not out yet,” you murmured aloud, voice vibrating against Yunho’s back. 

He chuckled as he flipped a pancake. “You tired them out. According to San, your heat was ‘raging’ since your first day with them, so they’re catching up on some sleep.”

You blushed, rendering you speechless. “Oh…” 

The silence that followed was comfortable, filled with the sizzling of eggs and breakfast sausages, the savory aroma intoxicating the atmosphere. Yunho felt your stomach growl, “There’s some fruit in the fridge if you want a snack. It’s almost ready.”

You shook your head gently. “I’m okay, I’ll wait for you.”

And he wasn’t wrong—everything was finished sooner than you expected. Yunho carefully prepared a tray with everyone’s plates and brought it to the dining table. You followed behind, carrying the drinks and setting them beside each plate. You also grabbed a small bowl of fruit to the table—turns out you did want some after all.

You and Yunho indulged first, your tail instinctively holding his arm as you sat beside him, keeping him close. With the first bite, you melted into the savory-sweet flavor of the maple sausages, closing your eyes in delight.

From the corner of your eye, you spotted Mingi emerging from his room, drawn in by the scent of food. His tail wagged lazily behind him as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “I knew I smelled breakfast,” he mumbled groggily. When he blinked fully awake and saw you sitting with Yunho, waving at him enthusiastically, he paused mid-step. “Wait—why are you down here?”  His heart skipped a beat. You were supposed to still be in the room, or so he thought.

“My heat’s over,” your ears perched high on your head, exuding happiness. Mingi’s eyes widened before breaking out into that bright grin that you loved so much. 

He rushed over and embraced you in a warm hug from your seat beside Yunho. “I’m so glad to hear that. I’d spin you around if you weren’t in the middle of eating right now.” he released you soon after, deciding that he’d get his quality time with you later after breakfast. “San should be out soon,” he added, settling into his seat. “You know how much he loves sleep.” Almost on cue,  San emerged from his room, yawning loudly as he padded to the dining table. “That didn’t take long at all—”

San followed the scent of the breakfast with his nose, his eyes still closed, and his ears flicking as he heard familiar voices. “San-ah, you’re going to trip over yourself,” Yunho warned, shaking his head with an amused smile as he took a bite of his eggs.

“Wait…” San blinked a few times, his eyes finally focusing on you, “Why are you…?”

You chuckled softly, finding his confusion endearing. “It’s over.” 

San’s palm flew to his chest, relieved. “Thank goodness. I didn’t want you in pain any longer. It hurt every time I heard you cry.”

You felt so secure with all of them around you now. “I can imagine,” you replied, eager for the days ahead of you, knowing that normality was just around the corner. You couldn’t wait to feel like yourself again and be with them.

“How do you feel after it?” Mingi asked, his voice laced with genuine curiosity.

You paused, reminiscing about how you felt physically and mentally compared to your previous heats. “Physically, I’m sore,” you admitted, but that was to be expected. “But I feel incredibly… ethereal. Radiant, even. There’s no dull ache or emptiness like before—none of that leftover pain from an unsuccessful heat. My mind feels light, like it's floating in the clouds.” You smiled softly, eyes flickering from Mingi to the others around you. “It’s safe to say that I feel amazing.”

Yunho, who had been quietly observing you, leaned in to kiss your temple. The gesture was sweet, but it was filled with pride and relief. “That’s great to hear,” he uttered, his hand giving yours a gentle, delicate squeeze.

San and Mingi began eating, still in the process of waking up themselves. You silently giggled as they chewed with their eyes closed, clearly still clinging to the remnants of sleep. 

“Oh! Now that you’re both here, I wanted to ask,” you said, setting your fork down after finishing your breakfast. “Did Wooyoung and Yeosang call when I was in heat?”

San tilted his head to the side, “Yeah, you don’t remember?”

You shook your head, “I don’t remember much from my heat, only a few memories here and there.”

Mingi paused mid-bite, his fork still stuck in the pancakes as he looked at you with worried eyes. “Wait… you don’t remember much?”

You pouted, shaking your head. “I guess it was really intense that it blocked out most of the memories,” you shrugged. 

Mingi’s ears drooped, suddenly sullen as his eyes flicked between you and San. You noticed his demeanor shifted, but decided to ask him about it later.

“What do you remember?” San inquired, suddenly seeming less interested in the food. 

Trying your best to reminisce, you began with Yunho. “I remember Yunho first undressing me before the brain fog kicked in.” Yunho’s ears turned a deep shade of red at the mention, but he didn’t interrupt. You continued, ��And then some positions I was put into… but not much after my time with him.” Yunho was relieved that you didn’t go into detail about it. He would’ve fainted on the spot if you did. “With you and Mingi, I know I was against a wall at one point, but I didn’t see who it was. I know now that Wooyoung and Yeosang called, but I just don’t have a clue what about…”

They listened carefully to what you were saying, slightly shocked.

“At one point, everything went completely black, but when it cleared up, I remember using a toy with Mingi. I only started remembering clearer bits and pieces this morning with Yunho, before my heat ceased.” The table fell silent, the atmosphere heavy. “Is… um… something the matter?”

“No, not at all,” Yunho waved his hands in defense. “I’m just not familiar with heats, so I don’t know if this is normal or not.”

San frowned. “Nothing’s wrong, but it seems like you weren’t present for most of it. This heat was intense because even during normal heats, you would’ve remembered the majority of it.”

Your ears flattened, “Which sucks, because my first heats were terrible. I would’ve at least liked to remember this one after spending it with amazing people.” Hearing that made Mingi’s heart flutter; however, he remained quiet, absentmindedly playing with his food after hearing this. He knew he’d have to apologize again.

“Who was your first heat with, by the way?” San asked, curious since they had never asked you before. 

“The first one was with some cat hybrid at the heat hotel, but he wasn’t that great. The second one was with some tiger hybrid, and he was absolutely terrible—”

A clamor of disgruntled noises erupted from both San and Mingi. You peered over at Yunho, who had his mouth covered with his hand as he watched both of their reactions, equally as shocked.

“There’s no way he was your second experience,” Mingi seethed at the thought. 

“Do you guys know him?” You were very confused as to why they seemed to strongly dislike the tiger hybrid. You understood why you did, but why did they?”

San calmed everyone at the table, “Maybe it's a different tiger.”

“Hyung, be real. How frequent are tiger hybrids?” Mingi scowled, clearly losing his appetite now.

San put a finger to his lips, “What was his name? Or do you remember how he looked?” 

You described the tiger hybrid to the best of your ability, gesturing the length of his hair with your hands, describing his height, and pointing out any specific facial features you could recall. Everything you said matched the description San and Mingi had.

“That bastard.” Now it was San’s turn to scowl.

“Wait, but what happened? Why do you hate him?” You were genuinely curious now.

Yunho, sensing the rising tension, decided to speak up for them, as both San and Mingi were visibly pissed. Although Yunho thought their reactions were hilarious, he kept his tone calm. “It’s a long story, but the short version is that they went to the same clinic as that hybrid. I’m sure they’ll tell you later.”

“What did he do for you to have a bad experience?” Mingi asked, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “He only cared about himself. He didn’t do anything I liked or even try to ask what I liked. It was all about him, and honestly, he wasn’t even that substantial…”

“And then he had the audacity to—you know what…” San sat back in his seat, clearly upset. “It’s a good thing you don’t have to deal with that anymore.” Somehow, they were more upset than you were; they obviously had more history with him. “Since we’re on this topic now, for the sake of future heats, is it okay if I ask what you do like, so that we don’t make the same mistake?”

“We should go around the table, honestly,” Mingi suggested, gesturing a circle with his finger. “For us and Yunho.”

“Suddenly?” Yunho rubbed the nape of his neck, looking unsure. “Only if everyone’s comfortable.”

You cleared your throat, blushing again. “I like biting and getting bitten…and kissing… and marking—anything oral, I suppose.” They knew that very well; San and Mingi were covered, so you couldn’t make out much besides what was displayed on their necks. “I like sitting on it for a while and…waking up to sex or kissing, so to speak,” that came as a surprise to everyone. “So right here, right now, I’m giving you all my consent.”

They all mentally noted everything, remembering it for future reference. Yunho went next, eager to get his thoughts out of the way. “I like whatever the other person likes. I guess you could say I love worshipping the body—anything that will make you unravel, I’ll do,” he said confidently, playing with the sleeve of his shirt. “I also like restraints, but you know…”

“Giving or receiving?” San cocked an eyebrow, tail swaying behind him with interest.

“Giving. But if the other person wants to dabble in it, I don’t see why not,” Yunho shrugged. Your tail subconsciously tightened around his arm at the thought of being restrained.

“I do like a bit of pain mixed in, so biting, scratching, hair-pulling, nails digging, and tasteful slapping are things that I enjoy,” San listed, reminiscing about his time with you and how you scratched him so deliciously. “It shows me I’m doing a great job—unless you know, I’m not. I’m more on the dominant side, if that puts anything into perspective.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Did I do any of that?”

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded with a satisfied expression. “You should see the work you’ve done.” He chuckled when he saw how embarrassed you got. “I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Don’t worry.”

Mingi was the last to speak. “Similar to yours and San’s, I do enjoy biting, and giving oral, but I also like being a little bit rough—if, well… they can handle my size. But I especially enjoy seeing how flexible someone is, how many positions I can put them in. I’m fine with most things, as long as we’re both enjoying ourselves.”

“Your size?” You questioned, intrigued.

Mingi covered his face with his hands. “Right. You don't remember.” He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the ends.

Yunho clapped his hands together. “Glad we got this off our chests.” He stood up from his seat and stacked the empty plates and half-finished plates onto the tray. “I don’t know if you two washed up, but if you haven’t, go do that,” he ordered before disappearing to the kitchen to wash the dishes.

San muttered under his breath, still hung up on the fact that the tiger hybrid had been your second experience. You stood up and stretched slightly before making your way around the table toward the living room to relax. Just as you passed it, the chair behind you screeched abruptly against the floor, followed by a sudden, tight grip on your wrist. When you looked back, Mingi towered over you, his eyes clouded with something close to sadness.

“Hi…” he spoke softly, his ears drooping and his tail tucked between his legs. 

“Hi, Mingi. What’s wrong?” You stepped closer, and he instinctively moved back, creating more space between you. This wasn’t like him at all. “You’ve been acting a little off at the table. Did something happen?”

Mingi let go of your wrist, gaze dropping to the floor. “I—um… I want to start by saying I’m glad you're back. With us…” He fidgeted with his fingers, unsure of what to do with them.

You noticed right away and gently took his hands in yours, grounding him. “I’m listening.”

Mingi might’ve pulled his hands away—if you hadn’t been the one to reach for him. “As you know, canine hybrids can get a bit more possessive during intercourse. It’s even stronger when it's with someone they like and care about.” He still couldn’t meet your eyes, too hyperaware of your hands in his. “I didn’t ask if you consented to or allowed it, but… I bit your scent gland while you were in heat.” 

He gazed at you with glossy eyes when he finally looked up.

“I was so lost in my own headspace that I submitted you further. The fact that you don’t even remember it happening—or our conversation—makes me feel even worse. So, I wanted to apologise again… I’m so sorry, y/n.”

That must’ve explained the brief moment of darkness you’d experienced. You delicately tightened your grip on his hands, seeing how clearly worked up he was. 

“I accept your apology,” you said with a small smile, hoping to ease his tension. “When I say I like biting, that includes things like that tool. I should’ve told you beforehand, but I’m not upset with you—at all. Especially seeing how much you seem like you regret it… It shows how genuinely sorry you are. Some hybrids wouldn’t even think twice about something like that, but you did.” You gave his hands a reassuring squeeze, running your thumb over his knuckles. “And I promise, if I had told you it was okay, it would’ve been”

You brought your hands up to his face, wiping away his tears. He leaned into your touch, his face pressing softly into your palms. Just before you could pull away, he took the back of your left hand and placed a delicate kiss on it. 

“Thank you… for forgiving me,” he murmured.

“Aww, Mingi.” You pulled him into a tight hug, your tail instinctively wrapping around his arm. He held you just as tightly, swaying the two of you side to side. 

“Also,” you began, a playful lilt in your voice as you chose to lighten the mood, “you like me? Since you said, ‘if it's with someone you like and care about.’”

Mingi let out a deep sigh, pecking the top of your head. “You have no idea, sweetheart.”

~~

A few hours had passed, and you found yourself catching up with Yunho, San, and Mingi, the conversation flowing effortlessly as you bounced between endless topics. There was never a lull, just laughter and easy chatter. At one point, Yunho shared that in a month, he’d be working with another major artist—choreographing a dance for them and possibly even performing on stage with them. You congratulated him sincerely, proud of everything he’d accomplished. The thought of seeing him shine on stage filled you with excitement, knowing how much work he’d put in. But that joy came with a quiet ache—realizing you’d probably be seeing less of him.

As you relaxed in the living room, curiosity got the better of you—you wanted to see the aftermath on San and Mingi’s chest and back. Their marks were worse than Yunho’s, but nothing compared to the imprint of your love bites. Your fingertips traced the deep red lines across their skin, grimacing at the sting they must’ve felt. But they both reassured you it was nothing—more like a reward, in their eyes.

You eventually nestled back against San’s chest, your legs draped over Mingi’s lap as the three of you enjoyed each other’s company. San embraced you tightly, his eyes shut as he purred against your back, fighting a nap but unwilling to let you move. His tail brushed against your torso, a soft, comforting presence. You played with the rings on Mingi’s fingers, admiring how pretty they were. He sat there in silence, gently rubbing your calf with his hand, his attention glued to the television.

Everyone was so utterly comfortable with one another that there was no need for a forced conversation—just the quiet joy of being together. Later, Yunho joined the three of you in the living room, settling onto the couch. 

He watched with affectionate eyes. “You guys are so cute right now.” San’s ear twitched at the sound of his voice, but the cat hybrid didn’t budge; he might’ve actually fallen asleep. 

“You can join us,” you offered, coaxing him to come to the floor with you.

Yunho chuckled and shook his head. “There’s not enough space for me. Besides, enjoy your rest—we’ve got plenty of time to cuddle later, if you want.“

You nodded, the word “time” suddenly echoing in your mind. You drifted into a moment of reflection, thinking back to your previous life—how time had been cruel to you. It had taken away someone you once loved, left scars where trust should’ve been, and seemed to always work against you. Time had felt more like a thief than a gift.

But now, you were beginning to understand that not all time was terrible. 

Your time here—with Yunho, San, and Mingi—had been nothing short of meaningful. Every second spent with them had been worth it. You had more beautiful memories in this short span than in most of your life. It gave you something you hadn’t felt in a long time: purpose. A reason to stay. 

Time, you realize, is what you make of it. It’s yours to shape—to fill with love, laughter, and memories. And with them, you wanted to make the most of every moment, feeling something quietly optimistic settle in your chest.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Yunho pulling out his phone, angling it to snap a picture of the four of you. You caught it just in time, posing with a peace sign and smiling as brightly as you could. 

Then it dawned on you… photos. 

Just like how your previous owner once described her late daughter’s clothes, photos, too, are timeless. They hold stories within them—snapshots of a specific moment when you were alive, when something mattered. They capture the true essence of memories you want to keep forever, pieces of time that serve as both comfort and motivation to keep going.

Because you never want to forget these memories—never want to lose the time you’ve spent with them—you silently promised to pick up photography. Not just as a hobby, but as a way to preserve the life you’re finally starting to cherish.

The doorbell rang, snapping you out of your thoughts and catching both your and Yunho's attention. You might’ve answered it yourself—if you weren’t so comfortably wedged in place, and if San didn’t have you locked tightly in his arms. He was definitely asleep, his gentle purring still rumbling against your back. 

Yunho stood up to answer the door, assuming it was just the mailman.

Your ear twitched at the sound of familiar voices at the door. 

Mingi paused the show, his eyes narrowing in the direction Yunho had gone. “There’s no way they’re here,” he muttered with a deep sigh. “My peace…”

He loves his friends—San does too—but the week had been long, and you were all beginning to enjoy a moment of peace. You were fine, though, you loved more company.

Suddenly, Wooyoung came rushing into the living room, a bouquet in his hand, and a wide grin stretched across his face. His ears stood tall, and his tail swayed with uncontained excitement. Trailing behind him at a more relaxed pace, Yeosang entered with a gift bag in hand, offering you a polite bow as he stepped inside.

“Y/N!” Wooyoung beamed, letting out a yawp of joy. The shout startled San awake. He cracked his eyes open, glaring at his friend with groggy annoyance. “What’s wrong with you?” his fluffy tail stopped moving.

San grumbled, “You’re the loud one, and you’re asking me what’s wrong?” He pulled you in tighter, burying his face into your shoulder as his ears flattened into full airplane mode.

Wooyoung rolled his eyes dramatically. “Can we greet y/n properly? You’re hogging her.”

“No,” San and Mingi replied in unison, their voices sharp and abrasive, disregarding Wooyoung’s request.

Yunho settled back onto the couch, watching the back-and-forth with an amused expression. “Boys, be nice. They came to visit.”

You shook your head at them, “I want to see them too, you know.” You lightly tapped San’s leg. “I’ll come back to cuddle later.”

San wanted to protest, but he couldn’t keep you all to himself, much as he’d like to. With a sigh of reluctance, he finally let you go. You swung your legs off Mingi’s lap, using them to push yourself off the ground before standing to give Wooyoung and Yeosang a lingering hug. Still feeling the pull of sleep, San rested his head on Mingi’s lap, his half-lidded eyes lazily watching the interaction between you and the others. 

“Congratulations!” Wooyoung handed you the bouquet. The vibrant array of colors and the sweet, rich aroma of the blossoms instantly drew you in.

“Thank you,” your voice soft as you examined the delicate petals. “But what are you congratulating me for?” 

“For finishing your heat,” Wooyoung gave you a genuine smile, sincerity twinkling in his eyes.

“We know how difficult it must’ve been, so Seonghwa helped us put together a little gift bag as a congratulations.” Yeosang handed it to you, though you raised an eyebrow at the size of the bag. Little? This was a huge bag. 

“We also wanted a reason to come over and offer our services, like we promised,” he added with a slight grin, his tail wagging low behind him. He did his best to hide the excitement in his eyes, but he was clearly agog about the gift—just as eager as you were.

You cocked your head to the side, confused. “Services?”

Yeosang raised an eyebrow, his ear twitching in confusion. “You don’t remember?”

You shook your head, a small frown tugging at your lips. “Unfortunately, no. I don’t remember much from my heat. I thought you and Wooyoung calling me was just a dream until San and Mingi confirmed it.”

Wooyoung frowned, his ears falling slightly, his tone turning condolent. “Oh, wow. It must’ve been worse than we anticipated. We promised to massage you after it was over because you deserve it… and because, who are they to have you all to themselves?” he reiterated.

Mingi, still sitting and absentmindedly playing with San’s hair, shook his head. “Still here, by the way.”

You purred softly, your excitement rising as the idea of a little pampering took hold. “I’d absolutely love that,” you said. “Should I open this now or save it for later?”

Yeosang gestured to the bag. “Please, by all means, open it.”

You took a seat next to Yunho on the couch, carefully peeling away the decorative tissue paper covering the top of the gift bag. Yeosang and Wooyoung were seated on the floor, chatting and greeting their friends properly. Immediately, the first thing that hit you was a mixture of their pheromones emitting from the bag. 

The first item you revealed was a clothing piece wrapped in plastic, with your name beautifully embroidered on the top. Curiosity piqued, you unwrapped it, discovering that it was a luxurious silk pajama pants set. The fabric was soft and smooth, threaded with silver along the hem, collar, and bottom of the pant legs. The quality felt incredibly rich, making you want to slip into it immediately.

“This is so gorgeous, oh my goodness,” you whispered in awe, tracing your finger over your name embroidered on the right side of the top. 

Wooyoung hummed in approval, his tone light. “This is the pajama set that Seonghwa promised you. He gave you a set to wear here, and if you ever come back to our place, he has an extra one for you.”

This was the great work of Seonghwa—this was only a taste of his beautiful pieces. You couldn’t wait to see more of his creations. You folded the items neatly, placing them next to you on the sofa before reaching for the next item in the bag.

The next two items you pulled out were hoodies, each one distinctively carrying the scent of Yeosang and Wooyoung. The first hoodie was beige, adorned with intricate flowers on the top right of the chest. The second hoodie was a bold red, covered in black designs that resembled scribbles, with a lion crest proudly sitting on the top right. The contrast between the two made them uniquely special.

“We wanted to gift you a piece of us, so we gave you our favorite sweaters,” Yeosang explained, his tail wagging slightly more than usual, thudding softly against San’s leg. “You can scent it, wear it, whatever you want, whenever you want, or even miss us when we’re not around. Mine’s the beige one.”

“I noticed,” you said, inhaling the scents of both hoodies. You’d never get to see them as often as you liked, so this felt refreshing. “No one has a coffee scent like yours.”

Yeosang blushed at the compliment, his tail wagging even harder against San’s leg, a subtle sign of his flustered excitement. However, San, growing increasingly annoyed, grabbed Yeosang’s tail and lightly pinned it to the ground. Yeosang quickly apologized, making sure not to draw your attention away from the gifts.

You left the sweaters resting on your lap, wanting to keep them close as you continued to sift through the last few items. There was a fluffy cat plushie, a sleek purple tablet case, a pair of overhead headphones, and a gorgeous bracelet. The bracelet had an engraving in it, reading, ‘To our lovely Dandelion, who blooms in the harshest of weathers’. The words brought a rush of memories that night at their house, with a pout forming on your lips as you marveled at the sweetness of it all.

“Wow, I asked for these headphones too,” Yunho commented, eyeing your headphones. He could buy them himself, but he asked Seonghwa a while ago to get him one for his birthday. 

“The plushie and tablet case are from me,” Wooyoung smiled, pleased by how you were admiring each gift. “The plushie is supposed to represent me,” his fluffy tail flicking behind him in excitement, “and I thought the case would be really practical for you, since you’re always on the tablet. It helps prop it up so you don’t have to hold it all the time. Plus, it’ll make video chatting so much easier for us.

“Mine are the headphones and bracelet. I know how much you love music, so I thought these would help you fully immerse yourself in it.” His eyes gleamed as he continued. “The bracelet is so we can match, but I had the engraving done to remind you of what you are to us,” Yeosang said sweetly, unable to hide how proud he felt of his choice in gifts.

They truly put a lot of thought into the gifts for you—their choices meticulous and heartfelt—and all of it was for simply overcoming your heat. You didn’t think that you deserved something this grand, but with each gesture, you were reminded that your friends, your loved ones, always made you feel worthy of such kindness, such luxuries. 

“Thank you so much,” you were filled with gratitude. “I’m so grateful for all of this. I’ll definitely be using them often.” You carefully set the items aside, taking a moment to give both Yeosang and Wooyoung another tight hug. “You have no idea what this means to me, truly.” 

As you hugged them, Yunho carefully folded the items and placed them neatly in the bag, making sure you could carry everything up to your room with ease.

Wooyoung, still holding your hand, smiled warmly, his thumb gently brushing against your knuckles. “Just wait until your birthday,” he promised, his voice full of excitement. “We plan to spoil you.” He chuckled softly, a glint of pride in his eyes. “Seriously, I’m so proud of you today.”

You couldn’t help but feel warmth spreading inside you once again. So many wonderful people surrounded you, and you couldn’t ask for a better life.

Yeosang clapped his hands together, clearing his throat. “Now, shall we provide our services, Princess Y/n?”

You giggled at the nickname; they really loved calling you princess, and it had even rubbed off on Yeosang. “Please do.”

Wooyoung peeked over your shoulder at Yunho. “Hyung, if you don’t mind, we might need the couch. We can’t have her lying on the floor.”

Yunho chuckled at how silly they were, but he couldn’t help but appreciate their considerate nature, so he couldn’t complain. He stood up, “Have at it.” Yunho gestured to your bag, “Do you mind if I just put this in your room?”

“Of course not, I appreciate it.” You reassured him, and he nodded before grabbing the bag off the couch and leaving the living room.

Wooyoung softly instructed you to sit back on the couch as he settled on the floor in front of your legs. Yeosang moved behind you, his hands gently probing your shoulders for any tension or knots. Once he found them, he positioned his hands carefully, applying soothing pressure as he began massaging your muscles. Meanwhile, Wooyoung focused on your calves and feet, gently easing the tender spots with extra care. You melted into their touch, closing your eyes, purring that vibrated through the sofa. They were completely immersed in the task at hand, ensuring you were fully relaxed and free of any pain—so focused that neither of them noticed the intense, burning glare San and Ming were sending their way.

San and Mingi weren’t exactly jealous—however, they definitely could’ve massaged you themselves, so maybe they were just a little jealous, but they weren’t going to admit that. San had sat up by now, planting himself right beside Mingi. The two of them watched in brooding silence, their ears flat on their head as they stared at the scene unfolding in front of them. 

“We would’ve had no problem doing it ourselves,” San whispered, pouting as he crossed his arms, his words meant for Mingi alone.

“They just come here whenever they feel like it, taking her away,” Mingi scoffed, “It’s the audacity.”

“We were cuddling, even. What kind of animal does something like that?” San grumbled, furrowing his brows in annoyance.

“And they’re our friends? Monsters, maybe.” Mingi exaggerated dramatically, watching as their hands skillfully moved over your body, seeing you sigh contentedly at their massages.

“Somehow that makes it even worse,” San muttered, shaking his head.”

“It’s a massage, boys,” Yeosang replied playfully, though there was a subtle edge to his tone—he clearly didn’t think it was that serious. “You two aren’t that quiet, either.”

San and Mingi mumbled something disapproving under their breath, subtly deprecating the situation. Not that they were jealous, of course. As far as they were concerned, their reaction was completely reasonable. To them, at least.

“Also, you spent an entire week of heat with her, and you live with her. Grow a backbone,” Wooyoung scolded, a hint of a hiss lacing his words.

“Yah!” San gritted his teeth in the most non-threatening manner. Neither Wooyoung nor Yeosang were the least bit fazed. 

Mingi pushed himself up from the floor and started toward the kitchen. “I’m getting a snack…”

Yeosang’s eyes lit up. “Can I ge—“

“No.” Mingi cut him off flatly, not even looking back.

“Can you get me some fruit, Mingi?” you asked sweetly, a soft purr threading through your words. 

Mingi practically melted at your sweet voice, rubbing his chest as if to soothe the effect. “Anytime.”

“Wow…” Wooyoung drawled, feigning surprise. “Real strong backbone you’ve got there.”

Mingi ignored the jab entirely—because it wasn’t them who asked, it was you.

“If you guys don’t start being nice to one another, no one gets to scent me,” you warned them. They were acting ridiculous over nothing.

Instantly, their attitudes flipped. 

“Yeosangie hyung, what did you want to eat?” Mingi called from the kitchen, already cutting up fruit for you.

“Sannie, did I tell you how handsome you are today?” Wooyoung chimed in satirical enthusiasm, without even glancing in San’s direction.

“Wow, good job, Yeosang,” San said with ‘unwavering joy’, complimenting him on his masseuse skills. 

Yeosang shook his head. “We’re just having friendly banter. We don’t mean anything by it,” he reassured you. As he moved your hair aside for better access to your skin, his eyes widened at the sight of the love bites scattered across you. “Goodness, were they trying to kill you?”

“What do—oh—” you cut yourself off, suddenly realizing what he meant. An abashed flush spread across your face as Wooyoung also noticed, his jaw dropping in the process.

“Well god damn,” Wooyoung muttered, eyes also widening as he took in the deep purple marks along your neck, trailing down to your chest, though your silk pajamas covered most of them. 

Mingi returned with snacks for everyone, plus some fruit for you. “Don’t stare too hard. And no, we weren’t trying to kill her,” he said, setting everything down on the table and handing you your bowl. “Just went a little overboard.”

“A little?” Yeosang asked, perplexed by Mingi’s definition of ‘little’.

“Just a little,” San added with a grin, leaning forward to grab one of the snacks Mingi brought. Mingi reclaimed his seat next to him, munching happily as well.

“If that’s the case…” Wooyoung paused massaging your legs for a moment, turning towards San and Mingi, who stopped moving, anticipating his unpredictable nature. Wooyoung first went to San, pulled down the collar of his shirt, and gasped dramatically before doing the same to Mingi. 

“Yah! What is—“, Mingi started, but he was cut off because Wooyoung began raising his shirt from the bottom up, inspecting his torso. “I’m literally going to bite you.”

“Go ahead,” Wooyoung shrugged, completely unbothered by Mingi’s threat. After Mingi tugged his shirt back down, Wooyoung returned to San, attempting to pull his shirt up. However, San quickly grabbed his forearm with his tail. 

“She did a number on both of you as well,” Wooyoung teased, eyeing the marks on their skin.

Blushing, you covered your face with your hands, feeling incredibly hot. As they continued bickering, with Wooyoung attempting to undress them, Yeosang gently tapped your shoulder. “You can lie on your stomach now.” 

You complied, turning onto your stomach and burying your face in the couch pillow to hide your flustered expression. 

Yeosang carefully sat on the back of your legs, making sure not to put too much weight on you, as his hands began searching for any knots in your back. Meanwhile, behind you, there seemed to be some sort of wrestling going on, but you couldn’t see it.

“You act like I haven’t seen your body before.” Wooyoung sat on San’s torso, easily pushing against San’s strong grip on his wrists.

“You could ask first at least,” San grumbled, trying to sit up, but Wooyoung leaned forward, pressing him back down onto the ground. “When the hell did you get so strong?”

San could lift all the weights in the world, but there was one thing he could never defeat—Wooyoung. His capricious nature always threw San off guard.

“Please, pretty please?” Wooyoung beseeched, batting his lashes coyly, still pushing against San’s resistance.

“Yes, fine,” San admitted defeat, letting go of Wooyoung. He sat up, crossing his legs and allowing the younger to explore his chest. 

Mingi glanced at San with amusement, trying to hold back a laugh at the fact that San had lost. San mouthed a ‘help me’ to Mingi, but Mingi shook his head, enjoying his snack. “That’s your friend…”

Wooyoung stopped to turn toward Mingi, who went pale in the face, “I’m not your friend?”

Mingi put his hands up in defense, “You’re my friend, you’re my friend, I promise we’re friends.” But that didn’t stop Wooyoung. He pounced on Mingi, climbing on his torso now and attacking him with tickles instead. “I said we’re friends! Yeosang, help!”

Yeosang simply sighed, the motion of his thumbs soothing your back as he worked on the deep tissue. “I’m busy,” he replied, bláse and unbothered. Mingi, betrayed by Yeosang, let out a dramatic groan, but deep down, he knew he had it coming.

Yunho walked downstairs, stopping in his tracks at the sight of pure chaos before him. Wooyoung was mercilessly tickling Mingi, who was squirming and laughing uncontrollably as he desperately tried to push him off, while San looked like he had just narrowly escaped an apocalypse. It was clear that what was supposed to be a relaxing massage session had turned into a free-for-all.

“Why are you guys always fighting?” Yunho muttered to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. There was only one way to settle this. “Do you guys want anything to eat?” Everyone turned towards him, except you. Yeosang’s hands felt too good for you to even register the question. 

“Yes,” they all said in unison. Food was always the answer to their hearts.

“Great. Get off Mingi before I call Seonghwa,” Yunho said, directing the warning to Wooyoung, who reluctantly obeyed. He parted with a playful bite to Mingi’s bicep, making the latter jolt.

At that moment, Yeosang found a particularly tense knot in your back, drawing an unexpectedly high-pitched moan from your lips. His hands froze, and the room fell into stunned silence. You decided it was best not to turn your head, hoping to save yourself from embarrassment.

“Did… did I hurt you?” Yeosang asked hesitantly, his tail falling still and his ears flattening with concern.

You muffled a reply into the pillow, your voice barely audible. “No… it felt nice…”

Yunho let out a deep sigh. “At least I know she’s still with us and didn’t suffocate herself on that pillow.”

[ax-louise]

HISTORY

yan!romantic royal damian wayne × royal male reader × yan!platonic royal batfamily

NOTE: i never actually thought someone is waiting for this series and i'm a bit nervous if anyone would even like it :p, so this is for that one anon who asked for this, im very sorry! here's a short (very) part of chapter 2. stuck on chapter 2 since this chapter would be long, currently on 7k+ word count and still planning on continuing. reader is Caelum's prince, for context. also, reader is 9 years old in this part and planning on continuing the series until 16-20+ years old :p

“I heard that Caelum finally has a royal attending the Academy after years!” Stephanie Brown exclaimed, her eyes shining in excitement and enthusiasm. “Isn’t that interesting?”

“What are you even getting excited for?” Timothy asked, closing the door of his own chamber. His eyes traveled from Stephanie to Duke and Cassandra standing before him, with Duke lowering his own royal mantle, and leaning down in front of a chimney for warmth. “This is… insane. We’re not even a week in yet for this year, and you’re here?”

Although the three of them would actually prefer to stay back in Gotham than to live for months in the Academy, the news that Caelum finally has a prince to represent their kingdom after these years, has been the reason for them to come back to the Academy earlier than expected. New things have arrived, and they're not one to miss.

Plus, Timothy's report containing how Caelum's heir acts differently from how they expected him to be pushed them into forcing Bruce to send them to the Academy immediately, to witness you themselves, to see you for themselves. From the image of you being aggressive towards Gotham, holding a grudge against them and taking the Academy as your chance to avenge your kingdom from history, to them realizing that your intentions are surprisingly pure.

But what do they actually know? Timothy only met you yesterday, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know you from the hours of watching you, right? Of course he does. You were a potential threat for his kingdom, and it is only his job to assure everyone they're safe.

“How about the kingdom?” Timothy asked once again. Stephanie let out an air through her nostrils before plopping down on Timothy's bed.

“Everything is fine. Bruce can handle it.”

The doors Timothy had once shut close were opened, the loud footsteps prior alerted them of a person, and they watched the doorknob be twisted from the other side before Damian came into view, his usual scowl evident on his face, and slamming the door shut behind him. The sound bounced on the walls, and echoed inside the silent chamber.

“What has become your reason to attend earlier from what we had discussed?” Damian started, and walked towards one of Timothy's chairs placed on a corner.

“The report,” Duke answered this time, his back facing the rest of his siblings. “I guess none of us believed that the kingdom we attacked years ago, the same kingdom that has been making us suffering by their silence, is surprisingly not a threat at all.”

"Why are you already coming to conclusions when it has only been two days with Caelum's heir?” Damian questioned, leaning backwards on the chair and letting himself relax, releasing all tensions resting on his shoulders from today’s events. “What made you think that they'll immediately attack us? He could be manipulating us into thinking he knows nothing.”

“But what do you think?” Timothy spoke. “He came alone with one royal knight, and we're here with hundreds of ours, standing behind our backs and ready to unleash their swords if any of the neighboring kingdoms attack us. But we're talking about Caelum here, we didn't give the rest of them a reason to be a threat to us, we're sending hundreds of men against one knight and his nine years old prince who doesn't even know anything at all.”

“And what are you trying to insinuate, Drake?”

“That we're pathetic and obsessed?” Stephanie answered for Timothy, eyes sticking on the ceiling, and a soft laugh that left her lips after her words. “I mean, it's better to be sure than not at all, Caelum didn't even do anything after our ancestors killed their former queen, isn't it already a proof that they are never going to answer our call for war, even after all these years?”

“We had a reason to start a war,” Duke stated. “But after all these years, truths are always uncovered. I don't think we had the right to execute their queen because of an accusation we never had an evidence with… and being alert, cautious, around Caelum for so many years, even until this moment, just to receive nothing really proves how pathetic we've become. We tried to start everything, and we’ve been waiting for too long. This is our way to make an alliance and fix everything with Caelum to stop putting ourselves on edge.”

“Who are we to say that? We're not the one seating on a throne to decide,” Damian argued.

“But you will,” Timothy pointed his finger at Damian. “And that is one thing both you and [Name] had in common.”

[takusan-no-ai]

In Love with Love

PAIRING: Yanagi/Miyabi/Grace/Koleda x Male Reader (Romantic) (Separate)

SUMMARY: They have a crush on (Y/N), Phaethon’s younger brother.

Things were, awkward, at first. You weren’t aware of how your siblings became friends with Section 6, but you knew it had to be more than Random Play. Your curiosity led to you spending time with Yanagi; and being Phaethon’s younger brother, Yanagi acted like a mother to you; despite you being close in age. She’d share her favorite red bean buns with you. And sometimes while relaxing outside, Yanagi would sing a lullaby as you rested next to her.

But that didn’t deter your drive to discovering the truth. Which you eventually did. Just when things seemed like they couldn’t get worse, Soukaku let it slip one afternoon that everyone in Section 6 knew. It was shocking to Yanagi why that hurt you; she assumed you were a part of the proxy business. So, when she saw how hurt you were it was like the natural caring side of her resurfaced; she apologized and reassured you that nobody at Section 6 meant any harm. Especially herself. Why she insisted on that? She couldn’t explain.

You had a hard time being upset at Yanagi, her sincerity shining through. While you had issues with your family, you still cared for them. And similarly you still cared for Yanagi and Soukaku, both of which you had bonded with. So you both were amicable with each other. You even became a big brother figure to Soukaku, something that Yanagi really loved; the way you treated her made Yanagi see you in a more mature light.

Naturally that came with seeing…other parts of you differently. She became hyper aware of your presence. Yanagi could easily find you in a crowd, and she’d always have a dopey smile on her face as she watched you. Please don’t tease her for that time you handed her a red bean bun and she stood frozen, over analyzing your action, until she bit it while you still held it. Romance was never her strong suit.

It was finally afternoon, after some long and grueling decades at work. At least for Soukaku it felt that long. With Yanagi and (Y/N) right behind her, the group made their way to Waterfall Soup in Lumina Square.

“C’mon Nagi! (Y/N)! I’m starving!” Soukaku was practically dragging them forward, her stomach growling so loud it scared away the birds.

“Patience, Soukaku.” Yanagi corrected her.

“The noodles aren’t going anywhere.” (Y/N) chimed in.

Soukaku eased back on her whining, preferring to rub her stomach in what would normally be exaggerated pain for any other child. Yanagi giggled at her, walking slightly faster so the little oni wouldn’t have to be in hunger any longer.

But as she walked Yanagi tripped over a small stone that had blended in with the street pavement. (Y/N) quickly caught her, helping her readjust her glasses. “You okay Yanagi? That was a close one.”

But she couldn’t answer his question, too focused on the close proximity. His cologne. His beautiful eyes. The comfort of being enveloped in his arms—

“Hehehe.” Soukaku was giggling right next to Yanagi. The latter quickly fixed her heel, walking ahead to hide her encroaching blush. (Y/N) stared off at her quickly departing figure, making a small glance at Soukaku, who was still fighting off a large grin.

Now sitting at Waterfall Soup, Soukaku immediately started digging in. Yanagi and (Y/N), who were sitting next to each other, watched her with a smile.

“I think I get it.” (Y/N) whispered. Yanagi turned to look at him, a questioning look on her face. He continued, “This is probably how Wise and Belle felt. Watching over me like a child.” Yanagi nodded.

“Even though I know Soukaku is capable, I still want to protect her.” She said. “But I won’t shelter her from everything. Instead, I’ll teach her so she can be ready.”

(Y/N) gazed at Yanagi, a soft smile encompassing his face. She looked at him for a moment before hastily turning away. Again she was made aware of how close they were. Shoulders almost touching. Why was he looking at her like that? She wondered.

“You would be an amazing wife, Yanagi. And an even better mother.” He mumbled. His smile had turned into a cheeky grin as he watched her face turn fifty shades of red.

“Fl-flirting is not appropriate around children, (Y/N).” She tried to state her claim firmly, but her stutter made it lackluster.

“Who said I was flirting? Unless that’s what you want me to do?” He teased.

Yanagi resigned to eating her noodles, not trusting her voice. But she didn’t decline his offer.

Soukaku cleared her throat. Both of them froze up, having forgotten for a moment where they were.

“So…,” she started.

“…are you guys getting married now? Like the princess and prince in my storybook?”

Miyabi was initially indifferent when she met Phaethon’s younger brother, but that quickly changed when she realized you were both flocks of the same feather. The silly back and forth’s, training (goofing off), like kindred spirits, it was as if you’d known each other for years. You made Miyabi feel young again, before being a void hunter came with such responsibility. While you were curious as to how Belle and Wise knew a void hunter, like smoke over the screen, you opted to ignore the obvious.

You had later found out about your siblings side business, and you thought it was a secret they kept between themselves. So when Miyabi mentioned in passing, asking why you don’t go into hollows or train to fight in them, it was safe to say you were confused. That’s when she reveals that, yes, everybody at Section 6 knew. And you felt so blindsided. But you knew she didn’t mean harm and Miyabi had more things to worry about than keeping a secret like that from you.

So instead of seething about it all you decided to be proactive; you asked Miyabi to train you. To which she agrees. That way you could join Belle and Wise in their proxy work. Prove to them that you’re capable. Of course Miyabi warns you of what being a “hero” meant, that she would train you to survive and overcome that hardship, but that it was an unavoidable risk. She was so serious about it, and truth be told she was hesitant to even train you; all because she didn’t want to lose you.

Miyabi had an inkling of what she felt for you, but she chalked it up to her being possessive of someone she cares for. That feeling motivated her to train you to your limits. And while seeing the progress you made in such a short time was impressive, it was a little hard for her to remain focused. There were two brain cells in her mind fighting: one was worried about you going into a hollow, the other was busy ogling your body like she’d never seen a shirtless man before.

Slash!

Miyabi’s blade clashed against (Y/N)’s. This was their new training regime. It took a while, but (Y/N) could now wield a sword decently enough. “Your core strength has improved. However your arms are still too tense. You’ll cramp up before you can overpower your opponent.” She stated.

(Y/N) could only grunt in response. He was still parrying every one of her attacks. It was a constant barrage. He could tell she was going easy on him though. Something (Y/N) was currently very grateful for.

Having said that, Miyabi wasn’t doing it intentionally. She didn’t want to go easy on him. She wanted (Y/N) to truly undergo the kind of training he would need to survive the hollows. But she was too lost in thought, only making the occasional comment about his stance.

It had gotten to a point where they both started taking it too seriously. (Y/N) was getting eager, deciding to try and move on the offense. But anytime he did Miyabi would strike for a finishing blow, something he would just barely dodge. Not without a small graze either.

She was getting more distracted.

The thought of him getting killed by an ethereal.

Or the thought of him turning into one.

She couldn’t bear to see such a future come to pass. So she wanted him to be fierce, to go through a brutalizing, almost tortuous phase. All so that he would never have to endure such a fate. And so that if anything were to happen to her…

“…so that you could finish me.” She mumbled.

“Miyabi!” His shouting finally brought her back to reality. She snapped out of it, now realizing her mistake.

(Y/N) was using all of his strength to hold back her attack. Just inches away from his head.

Miyabi dropped her sword and fell down to her knees. (Y/N) took a moment to catch his breath before crawling over to her, holding her in his arms. She was trembling.

“What’s wrong, Miyabi?” He asked.

She sucked in a deep breath. Just talking felt like a stab in the gut. But like a broken dam, those emotions came bursting out with no end in sight.

“I don’t want to risk losing someone else again. All I have left is my father. What of my colleagues? The ones I’ve come to call my friends? What if…I become like my mother? Who will slay me?”

(Y/N) looked at her in bewilderment, eyebrows scrunched and breath hitched. What could he say? Should he tell her it’ll be okay? Or that she won’t have to worry about anything?

Instead, he comforted her the only way he knew how.

“I promise you, Miyabi, that I will live.” (Y/N) held her tighter. She stopped trembling, looking at him in astonishment.

“How can you promise that?”

“Because…,” he held her face, “…I promise to live for my family and friends no matter our disputes. And even more so than that, I promise to live for my love for you, Miyabi.”

It didn’t stop her from believing the danger she could become. And it couldn’t possibly prevent the possibility of death. But it did comfort her. And it did make her smile.

“I promise to love you too.”

Grace, being as antisocial as always, didn’t pay much attention to you at first. That was until you showed an interest in her “children”. Who knew Random Play was hiding such a sweetheart! She got to work immediately showing you how she makes them, even offering to teach you a thing or two. And when you made one together it led to you both roleplaying as the “child’s” mom and dad. Grace wasn’t prepared for the shock when she day dreamed what the real thing would be like while upgrading Belobog’s machinery.

Grace never intentionally kept the proxy work a secret, the topic simply never came up. Besides, updating you on her babies always felt more important. But she did feel bad for you. She saw a bit of sweat pea in you, being unable to trust your family. That doubt is hard to diminish. Logically she knows with enough time you’ll get through it and make amends with everyone, but for some reason she still couldn’t seem to focus afterwards. Especially when she thought of the hurt look you gave her in passing.

Surprisingly Grace is the one who changes, hunting you down to spend time together. She couldn’t explain why she wanted to spend time with some guy when her robots existed, but she couldn’t get you off her mind. So she just went with it. Plus your constant frowning wasn’t good at all; she really wanted you to smile like before. And so with her mission to make you happy, your own attraction for her grows more than before.

She steps out of her comfort zone, opting to make more time for a human instead of being nose deep in her work. It’d been a long time since Grace actually did something other than rant about her children, so the sudden change to being hyper aware of your smile, laugh, likes, dislikes, the times your hands would bump into each other…it was more than a little overwhelming. For once Grace actually started to regret being “single as hell” most of her life prior to meeting you.

Grace waited eagerly on her stool, fiddling with one of her machine cores. Who was she waiting for? Why (Y/N) of course! They agreed to meetup at Belobog Heavy Industries since he wanted to learn more about making advanced machines.

Both Grace and (Y/N) knew it was because he wanted a distraction. Something to challenge himself until he felt like he could talk to his siblings about Phaethon…

But that was enough about sad thoughts! Ben’s knock on her door had Grace racing to open it. “Uh, Miss Grace, please try to keep the expenses low. I know you’re excited to teach (Y/N), but—”

“Aw, don’t worry Ben! It won’t cost too much.” Grace said with a gleam in her eyes. Ben escorted (Y/N) inside, leaving with hefty sigh.

From then on it was completely quiet. Grace knew what she was doing when it came to tech, but explaining it was another matter. So she opted to show (Y/N) instead first. Saying the occasional “Good” or “Move it a little to the left”, she pretty much left him to his own devices.

“Grace?” He asked.

“Yeah?” She replied.

“I get that you’re going out of your way and all…,” he turned around to look at her, “…but do you think you could help me a little? I’m not a licensed mechanic like you so this is all new to me.”

Grace, who had been hovering above him and watching like a hawk, gawked. “Oh! I guess I have been a little…distant. I learnt most of this from my own experiences so I was kind of hoping it’d be the same for you…,” she trailed off.

Grace wasn’t lying when she said this. However it wasn’t the full truth. Yeah, she had been distant during it because she wanted to see (Y/N) in his element. But she also didn’t want to stand too close to him. Her heart beat, blushing face, and distracted thoughts were clear indicators of…something Grace would rather ignore.

(Y/N) grasped her hand suddenly and pointed her finger towards one of the modules. “Do I put this on or not for the next step?” Grace could feel her hand sweating and she was so grateful to be wearing gloves. But she was again getting distracted. Something about the way he held her hand, it got her thinking.

A ring in a box…

Church bells chiming…

Doves flying…

And him holding her hand softly, a smile on his face as they walked down the aisle…

“Hello??? Grace!” He called out to her again, snapping Grace out of her thoughts. She fanned her face with her other hand, humming and pretending to be lost in thought.

“Uuuh—yes! Remove that part!” She said confidently.

“But I haven’t even added it in yet.” (Y/N) reminded her. She deadpanned. “You okay, Grace? You seem really distracted today. Which is weird considering your kink for machines—”

“It is NOT a kink! It is a pure love and admiration!” She quickly defended herself. (Y/N) laughed at her quick retort, almost hunching over. Grace huffed in annoyance, eyebrows twitching and cheeks puffed.

“And to think I wanted to make a child with you.” She mumbled angrily.

(Y/N) stopped laughing.

Grace stopped pouting.

(Y/N) started blushing. “You-you meant like a robot…right?” He had to confirm that.

“O-of course! What else could I have meant?!” She shouted while covering her face, now red as her sweet pea’s hair.

“We st-still could. And we technically already have. What would today change?” He added.

Grace looked at him completely flabbergasted. And they say she’s bad a romance! He didn’t even understand what she said at all!

“The difference is that was a love confession!” She said while crossing her arms. Her eyes were squinted, clearly indicating (Y/N)’s next words were to be said carefully.

He covered his face, hiding his blush. “I mean I love you too but that wasn’t obvious at all.”

“What about it wasn’t—! Wait what?”

From the get-go Koleda liked you. Finally! Someone who didn’t tease her for her size or mistake her for a child! Being treated like an adult with you was very calming. In fact it made Koleda not so paranoid about appearing “childish”. She could have a calm, nonsensical conversation with you one moment, and gorge on desserts the next. Especially since most of the guys at work had a hard time believing she was the boss at Belobog. But you? You believed her instantly and showed her with respect.

Koleda was made aware that you didn’t know of the proxy work your siblings did. However she felt it wasn’t her place to intervene in your family affairs. Which is why she sympathized with you when you inevitably found out. She went through similar trust issues with her father, so Koleda understood what it’s like to question the trust of your loved ones.

But you were offended she didn’t even try to tell you. If she knew how you felt then why not tell you the truth? You could see why Koleda didn’t want to be involved but it still felt unfair. Koleda didn’t feel the same though. When you told her how upset the secrecy made you, she told you to be more mature. Because what she saw before her in her mind was a little boy who risked abandoning his family in a fit of pain. She saw herself in you and wanted you to take time to think about your feelings. But nonetheless, a strife was brewing between you two.

It was always thorny from then on whenever you became the topic of discussion at Belobog. Everyone would get quiet, looking away anxiously, quickly changing the subject. But Grace wasn’t having any of it. With the help of Anton and Ben, they successfully encouraged Koleda to have a proper discussion with you. It was tricky, but when Grace started teasing her for getting in a disagreement with her “crush”, Koleda quickly bolted out of there to get it done and over with.

“Ugh!” She groaned. Koleda was currently waiting outside of Random Play for (Y/N). She kept circling around the building, kicking rocks and second guessing herself; she reaches out for the door and immediately backpedals away for what felt like hours on end.

Wise was currently working at the counter, whilst Belle was out making a stock run, and as for (Y/N) he was…somewhere. Tensions were still there with his siblings, but they still treated each other well enough, so he didn’t leave home. That much Koleda knew for a fact.

Eventually Wise took pity on her and approached the nervous Koleda outside. “Hey, looking for my little bro?” He asked. Koleda was going to deny it, not wanting to acknowledge how obvious she must’ve looked, but the smarter option would be to swallow her pride.

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to talk to him. Know where he is?” Wise nodded in response.

He pointed towards Godfinger. “He’s been there for a little while now. Think he’s playing games to blow off some steam.” After being pointed in the right direction by Wise, Koleda thanked him and made her way over to the arcade.

It was in there that she saw him playing Bizarre Brigade. She took and deep breath and walked over to him. He was so absorbed in the game that he didn’t even notice her.

“Excuse me.” Koleda cleared her throat. Normally she would wait for someone to finish gaming but this was important.

“Still standing there?” He said.

Okay so apparently he did see her!

“Yeah! C’mon, let’s go somewhere more private. I need to talk to you, (Y/N).” She said.

He finished the game, having reached the final level on endless mode. (Y/N) turned to look at her clearly, his face cringing. “About what? How I’m immature?” His snarky remark had Koleda’s knuckles twitch.

She took a deep breath. “I get that what I said hurt your feelings; thats why I’m here to talk to you.”

He sighed. “Fine. Lead the way, munchkin.” He said with a smirk. Koleda could feel her blood boiling.

“Sure! Just remember that I’m the perfect height to break your knee caps!”

She led him to the bench outside of Box Galaxy, where they both sat at the furthest ends. (Y/N) had his arms crossed, looking indifferently at his surroundings. Koleda on the other hand was fiddling with her fingers, not really having planned this far ahead.

“Aren’t ya gonna say something?” He chided.

“I didn’t think this far ahead!” She replied. (Y/N)’s eyebrow was raised, a more than confused look on his face.

“Then why come here?”

“Because! It’s…important that I say this.” She took a deep breath, scooting over so that she was now looking directly at him. “I’m sorry.”

(Y/N) shivered a little.

“It wasn’t fair to call you immature for sharing how you felt; that was actually more mature than just being quietly angry at me for a reason I wouldn’t have known.”

He could feel his breath hitch.

“I still don’t regret not getting involved—”

“And I understand why you didn’t want to be.” He cut in.

Koleda breathed easily now, seeing as to how (Y/N) was less stiff than before. “Yeah. But the main reason I told you that was because I didn’t want you to make any hasty decisions or come to any conclusions without thinking it through.” Her voice trailed off, leaving a void of silence in the air.

“Koleda…,”

“The world lied to me about my father and I didn’t find out until it was too late. At least you still get to make amends. So…don’t make the same mistake that I did; or else you may regret it.” She said while fighting back tears.

(Y/N) stood up and walked off to the convenience store, leaving Koleda confused. He quickly returned with a small chocolate bar in his hand.

“Here.” He handed it to her, wiped the tears from her eye, and smiled. “I’m sorry too, Koleda. Let’s put it all behind us and start over again.” He comforted her.

Koleda smiled in return, already taking a bite out of her chocolate bar.

“This time how about we start dating?” He asked.

…

…

…

She almost choked to death.

- Fin

[softlypaintedseafoam]

women's wrongs

synopsis. sanji is a supporter of many things, women's wrongs being one of them. he just wasn't expecting women's wrong opinions to be among them; the cook supposes there is a first time for everything.

pairing. roronoa zoro x f!reader

word count. 1k | masterlist

content warning. written with a plus-sized reader in mind (but read as you prefer), pre-timeskip (post-little garden/pre-drum island), presently unrequited feelings (zoro has feelings for luffy as of this moment in time), usonami and lusan undertones if you squint

reblogs & interactions appreciated.

a fic that was hilarious inspired by my conversations with @hash-slinging-slasher-trash about her selfship verse with zoro and i couldn't resist writing it. i find it hilarious that depending on the verse, sanji and/or zoro judge for who you have feelings for but try to be supportive in their own way and thus this story was birthed

Conflicted doesn't begin to cover the expression on Sanji's face.

Conflicted, disturbed, confused and utterly full of disbelief. Those words combined probably summarize his expression best and even then you feel as if a new word should be invented entirely to describe it. You bury your face into your hands, ears hot. "The mosshead," Sanji asks, incredulous.

You nod, face even warmer.

"Mosshead." He says again, voice weak from your confirmation he unfortunately heard you correctly.

You nod once again.

This is all a mess. Here in his kitchen while he preps for tomorrow's breakfast, Vivi stands watch, Luffy and Zoro sleep and Usopp cares for an ailing Nami you know you have found yourself in a hot mess. You're sure when Sanji asked you "a berry for your thoughts?" that this was the least likely confession he expected to receive. Yet it all came flowing from your lips like a dam bursting through a crack.

"I have feelings for Zoro," you squeaked in a fluid motion, fingers clutching the tea cup Sanji gave you for dear life.

"My condolences," Sanji grumbles, equal parts empathy and pity sketched into his face.

You can't hold back a snort despite yourself. "Sanji."

As if remembering his chivalry, the cook stands straight at attention. "Forgive me, my lady, I only meant," the blond pauses, gathering his thoughts at speeds unknown to man. "Respectfully, the man who has caught your attention-"

"Is in love with Luffy, I know," you groan as you remember this oh-so-important fact. "Trust me, I am very aware of that fact." It's hard not to notice. When you initially joined the Straw Hats, you thought Zoro a stoic yet battle-hungry bounty hunter turned pirate who seldom showed how he felt. As it turns out, the swordsman is rather expressive save for how his face solemn and irritated when at rest. Zoro emotes quite often, in truth.

Zoro laughs when he's amused.

Zoro grins when he teases.

Zoro even pouts when you point out he should have noticed he was lost three tree loops ago.

You can feel your lips twisting into a smile in spite of your dilemma and do your best to fight it. Then you remember a flash of yellow and red, bright like sunshine and your smile falls as quickly as it started. Yes, Pirate Hunter Zoro is very expressive, you realized quickly.

For a ー former ー noble, such as yourself, you're not used to seeing love in its truest and most pure form. Your parents' marriage had been arranged by your grandparents, your parents merely had you to maintain the status quo and any match you'd find would be a man they approved of and would help you produce quality stock to continue the bloodline.

Vivi's lucky, you think of your fellow princess who is happily tucked away in a blanket on the crows nest doing her part. Her parents loved each other and they love her. Even her servants adored her so. Your heart aches as its strings are tugged. Luffy's lucky too.

He receives love as easily as he gifts it, even to those he doesn't know very well. He makes you feel like he's been your best friend for your entire life, despite having only met nearly a month prior. You'll always appreciate him for that and you know you are not the only member of the crew who feels this way. You all love and appreciate Luffy, some of you more than others.

Zoro more than others. His gaze lingers when he sees Luffy barreled over into himself as he laughs at whatever tall tale Usopp has weaved.

He smiles when Luffy makes his silly faces.

If you hadn't known better, you would think Zoro believes in Luffy more than he does himself.

Monkey D. Luffy is the sun; you're not even the moon.

"No," Sanji sets down his knife on his cutting board and presses his hands firmly on the dinner table. "That bum wants a man who picks his nose. In public! You can't have feelings for someone like that; I won't allow it. Besides, any clown who is in love with Luffy over a literal princess isn't worth anyone's time, let alone yours."

You're giggling again as you shake your head, "I appreciate you trying to make me feel better but you don't have to do it at Luffy's expense. He's a great guy to fall in love with. He's sweet." Loud and selfish but he's somehow sweet and selfless for it.

"He's fine," Sanji makes a face, shrugging. "He'd be better if he stopped breaking into the fridge every other night." Blue eyes look pointedly at the five giant mouse traps set around it, prepared once more for their war with the captain. You shake your head in amusement.

He complains but I think he secretly likes it. At least, if how Sanji smiles at Luffy in exasperation every meal time is anything to go off of. Sanji brow furrows when you tell him as much. "You can make that face all you want but you like how much likes your food."

Had you been one of your crew's male counterparts, you're sure Sanji would have scoffed at your words. Since you are not, he can't find it in himself to protest. "It's the least he can do if he is going to eat us out of house and home," he murmurs, mostly to himself, with a quiet huff. "You'd think he'd never eaten all his life with how he scarfs it all down, the shitty rubberman." He rests his hands on his hips with a sigh, finally relenting.

You grin at your small victory.

"I guess there are technically worse choices for the barbarian swordsman could have gone with," Sanji shakes his head, one eye closed in reluctant acceptance. "If he wants Luffy, he can have him. That doesn't change the fact that no mellorine should sell herself short."

"Sanji," you start to no avail.

Sanji shakes his head, not wanting to hear any further protests. "Trust me, my lady, you can do much, MUCH better than that guy. I'll make sure of it," he swears solemnly. "For all we know, your prince charming is right around the corner waiting to join the crew so he can throw himself at your feet. As a servant of love, I can't sit back now that I know this information."

It's your time to sigh as Sanji rambles on, cutting his carrots quickly.